Coffee
by Stella KiMara
Summary: When the Return of Ironside was broadcast in 1993, I saw everyone but Fran Belding had a backstory. Somehow she and Eve Whitfield had become good friends, but how? So here are my ideas about how that happened and what Fran did after the episode The Faded Image. To make future stories feasible, the story is set in 1990.
1. Chapter 1

_How do you come back to life after almost dying?_

**Chapter 1 A Girl Walks Into A Coffeehouse**

It was my routine ever since I went on medical leave. I woke exhausted after another night tormented by nightmares, meditated to calm myself, forced my body through a full series of asanas and exercises designed to help me move again, showered, pulled on clean jeans, t shirt, and a blazer, grabbed my backpack full of art supplies and slowly walked from my place to Phil'z, in the late summer morning, for a cup of what had been described, and proven, as the sign over the door proclaimed, "**San Francisco's Best Handmade Coffee**".

Phil'z is a San Francisco institution, occupying the corner of 24th and Folsom, a three story brick building designed to tightly hug the corner like a ship's prow. In addition to the banner brag over the door, there was another one hanging down under the signboard next to the bus stop. Recently, Phil's son, Jacob, whom I used to babysit, upgraded the place, adding Wi-Fi, live music evenings and weekends, painting the outside trim a bright green, which made the ceiling to floor windows look even larger, put some funky thrift shop tables, chairs and potted plants outside, hung local artwork on the bare brick inside walls and sold it for artists. The coffee was now roasted in house, drenching the place in a heavy perfume of Arabica, Kona and Columbian, but Jake had left "it" alone, "it", meaning Phil's recipes for coffees.

When I was a kid, my parents came here weekly. My mother, Magdalena, was Mexican, and coffee there was a staple of life. My father would have preferred a thick, square, highball glass of Irish whiskey with a cold Weinhard's long neck, while watching the game over at the Napper Tandy down the street, but on Sunday's, he dutifully made the walk to Phil'z with his family. The three of us always sat at the same table and the conversation would fly fast and furious in Spanish as we were joined by friends and relatives after Mass at St Peter's. Dad would leave the table early in the conversation and go stand behind the counter next to Phil, holding a mug of strong Irish tea, talking about the Giants or 'Niner's, depending on the season, while waiting for "Maggie", as he called mom, to let him go over to Napper's, while Phil, wearing his trademark fedora, frothed milk and made espressos, lattes, cappuccinos, cinnamon spiked Mexican chocolates, pour overs, French presses and teas, all the time keeping up conversations in English, Spanish, and Italian, while behind the large glass bakery case, his helpers selected pastries and cookies to go with the beverages. He was also the only one who still called me by my birth name as well as my childhood nickname.

I walked in and sat in my usual spot, a table near the window and closest to the right side wall, where the light was best, so I could sketch if so moved and pulled that morning's _Chronicle_ out of my bag_,_beginning in the Arts section. I found a review of Mitsu Yoshikawa's photography exhibit at Gallery 4. I'd gone there the other day and seen it. His black and white pictures had a spare Zen like quality about them, but had been taken at Stow Lake in the center of Golden Gate Park in the middle of a late autumn Saturday. He'd told me how children had been fascinated by his Hasselblad V 503CW camera, the gold standard for professional photographers. I'd seen him photographing around Coit Tower one day, struck up a conversation and we became friends. He became a mentor, providing me with an introduction to the San Francisco art scene and letting me try my own luck with the Hasselblad from time to time. As I read, happy that the _Chronicle_ agreed with my assessment of the exhibit, I smelled coffee at the table. I looked up from the newspaper.

"One Mocha Tesora Grande, with cardamom, and, a chocolate croissant for the lady". Phil announced as he set down on the table the square white china plate and thick cup he kept for his regulars. "And you're late this morning. You feeling ok?"

I smiled. "Good morning to you too, _querido_. I'm fine, really",

"So," he said, as he sat down across the wood table from me. "Maria Francesca. What's the agenda for today?"

"Nothing in particular; some sketching maybe even a walk to Golden Gate Park, who knows? Why are you so interested?"

"You have a lot of nothing in particulars recently. Next time the Chief comes in, he and I are gonna chat about your nothing's."

"He doesn't have any control over my nothing's, Phil. I'm on medical leave, remember."

"So, when do you go back to the doctor?"

"Not soon enough for you, it seems. Besides, I thought you liked having me here, especially when you're short staffed."

"You're a damned good cop and you need to be doing that again. What would your pop think about this or the Chief? What about those guys you work with? Mark and Ed, they're your friends, partners, I thought."

I said nothing. I didn't want Phil or anyone else to know I didn't trust myself after been almost killed three months ago. If I didn't trust myself, how could I have the backs of my partners?"

Phil got up and walked back to the counter. "So, then, you can work for Dina this afternoon, right? She called in a half hour ago. Her kid's got the flu."

"Sure".

"By the way, someone's been looking for you".

"Me? Who? Why? They say anything?"

"A lady. Real classy. A snob hiller type, but nice. She was in coupla days ago an' then yesterday afternoon, when you weren't here. Checked out your stuff on the wall. I think she might want to buy some. I told her you might be in today."

"Hey Phil!" A customer shouted. "Whaddabout my double espresso?"

"Hold on buddy. The sign says one cup at a time and it's not time for yours yet." He got up and returned to the front counter. "Gotta go kid. Ironside calls me, I'm gonna say you wanna go back to work."

"He'll know you're lying." I finished reading the section while eating the croissant, licking buttery flakes off my fingertips. My mother always hated that, my licking my fingertips after eating something like croissants. "_Mija_", she'd say. "_una verdadera dama no se comportaría de esa manera."_A real lady wouldn't ever do that, she tell me repeatedly, about any number of things, especially after I got into fights with the neighborhood boys. I'd always been a tomboy, my dad's kid. I would tell _mamita _angrily_,_ that she didn't understand me. "_No podía_ _ayudarme_." _I couldn't help myself, _I'd reply. Her response was always the same, to hug me tightly and whisper "_Se hicieron dificultades que hay que superar_." _Difficulties were made to be overcome._I brushed off the remnants of the pastry flakes on my jeans and thought about that and what I'd told Phil, rather what I didn't tell Phil, as I read the sports section and then flipped through my sketchbook. I still had six weeks of medical leave left and I wasn't sure if I wanted to go back. If I were to leave the Department, I wasn't sure what I'd do next. What would my mother be telling me now if she were still alive? Most likely the same comment._Difficulties were made to be overcome._I wasn't sure if these difficulties could be overcome. I let my mind wander to the other comment Phil had made. Someone was looking for me. Who and why? I sipped coffee and thought about it more. "Let it go", I said to myself. "What will be will be". I began a sketch of the coffeehouse interior complete with the grumpy double espresso guy. Maybe I could go into cartooning.

A shadow fell over me as the sketch took shape. I could smell a very expensive perfume, Klein, Chanel maybe. Looking up, I saw a woman. From her scent to her makeup and clothes, everything about her said money. I knew who she was even before she spoke. She'd let her hair grow longer. It was darker too. She'd aged a few years, but it was her eyes that gave her away. The same intense shade of blue with an equally piercing, direct look, just like in all the pictures I'd seen in the office of her. Extending a manicured hand, she spoke, her voice honeyed. "Hello, I'm Eve Dwyer. I've wanted to meet you for quite some time. May I buy you a coffee?


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves**

She sat down across from me without invitation. Phil scooted over promptly.

"_Pacquita,_ this is the lady I told you about." He beamed at Eve. "Ma'am, what can I get you?"

She waved a hand to ward off the offer. "Oh, no, please, I can wait in line."

Phil would have none of it. He pressed her into giving him her order, bringing it back in record time with a small plate of pastries, as well as a refill for me.

"You ladies need anything, you just ask".

She beamed a megavoltage smile at Phil before he moved back to the counter. "_Pacquita_?" she gave me a small friendly laugh. "I'm betting the nuns at Mission Dolores High School never called you that."

I ignored her comment. "Look, Phil thinks you're looking to buy some artwork." I said. "He doesn't know who you are. He thinks you're just some rich matron from Nob Hill who goes slumming, finding artists here in Mission to dangle the possibility of buying art from, mostly to amuse themselves and their friends with."

"Fran, I _am_ a rich matron from Nob Hill. I _can_ buy art from Mission District Artists for my own appreciation. I saw several of yours yesterday. You're very good. Unlike my friends, I _don't_ buy for amusement, though I could,if I wanted to." She sipped her coffee carefully. "But, you want to know why I'm here."

Damn certain I wanted to know why Eve Whitfield Dwyer was in town. She was the unspoken ghost in the room the first year I worked for Ironside. The internal question, "What would Eve Whitfield do?"caused me to second guess myself almost every time I went out on a case. I finally stopped asking it during the second year. After I was hurt, my new question was, "Will Fran Belding ever be a cop again?"

"Ed asked me to come talk with you. We're not colleagues anymore. But he and I have stayed good friends". She replied without waiting. She took a long swallow of coffee and motioned to Phil who immediately trotted over.

"Phil, could we have a couple of go cups and a bag for these? It's such a gorgeous day. Fran and I are going to enjoy it out walking. Denver is better designed for biking and climbing; not walking. I really miss that."

He brought a bag and two cups with lids over, telling me he'd make Robbie cover for Dina and refused to take payment from Eve. As I left, he took my backpack. "Something tells me you're not gonna be needing this today, kid. It'll be in the office tomorrow."

A short walk took us to one of the many small city parks. We sat down at a table, took off the coffee lids, sipped and nibbled.

"I miss the bay." She said. I could hear the sadness in her voice. "There's something about the colors, the smell. It gets into your soul. It's probably in the DNA. Denver is very different. There's no ocean. But I'm getting to appreciate the mountains more."

"Why did Ed send you?" I asked.

"You're his partner. He cares about you."

"He knows how to get hold of me."

"You don't answer."

That was true. He called, texted and emailed at least once or more every day, Mark too. What could I say to them? "_Hi, glad you're doing so well. I'm down so low; I don't know what up looks like?_" I wanted them to see me as competent and strong, not damaged.

"So _before_ he stages a police raid on your apartment, he thought you might like to talk to someone who's been where you are." She gave me a direct look, making me feel like a butterfly pinned to a collection board. I couldn't escape it. " And, apparently since you don't seem to want Ed's or Mark's,or the Chief's help, Ed thought that I might be able to reach you."

I wracked my brain. Eve hurt? When had this happened? The guys never mentioned anything about it.

She anticipated my question. "It took place, oh, almost eight years ago. I made a huge mistake, I let the guy get me off balance and next thing I know, I'm waking up in a hospital recovery room after surgery to remove a bullet".

I nodded. Glenville had gotten me off balance too.

"I didn't know if I wanted to be a cop after that." She said.

I didn't know either. "How did you get past it?" I finally asked.

"Ed, Mark, the Chief, Sam, for starters. My own family wasn't a great deal of help. They never wanted me to be a cop in the first place. It wasn't seemly for one in my position to work_. _They thought I'd give it up after that. My mother especially."

"How does someone like you decide to be a cop?" I asked

"The Chief," came her quick reply. "He made me realize I could do something more than attend fundraisers for the Police Benevolent Association."

"I grew up watching dad always doing things that helped people, not hurt them." I said softly. "I wanted to be like that. People in our neighborhood loved him. When he was murdered, he was trying to do just that, help someone."

"Where were you when that happened?"

"…on my first assignment in the Park District, watching parking meters. After the funeral, it seemed to me that the entire San Francisco Police Department thought my dad was dirty, including the Chief. So I decided to find dad's killer on my off time. Thinking I didn't have the Chief's support was really hard on me because he and dad were poker buddies. He knew mom; he watched me grow up. He wrote a recommendation letter for me to get into the Academy. I didn't even ask him for it. He knew my father wouldn't shake down anyone. So when he didn't start investigating immediately, I was devastated. There was no one was in my corner."

"What did you do?"

I smiled. "I tried picking up a local gambler named Charlie Rhine. I'd heard he had connections to the floating casinos in town, and he did. He worked for Joe Julian, one of Eddie Rogers' lieutenants. Julian ordered the hit on dad. He was the one who put the cash in my father's savings account and had a plan to steal the bank from Eddie Rogers. He really needed the Chief to pull it off though; my father and I were just bait. He was planning on taking over as the head of the city's crime syndicate. Julian figured he could take over Eddie Rogers's crew and beat the Chief. That would solidify his position as first among equals. He had a mole inside Vice, so he knew when the raids on the casinos were happening and knew about the Chief's reinjuring his neck, that he was going to have surgery again. What I_ didn't_ know was that the Chief was just waiting for the right moment to go after Joe Julian and after my adventure playing Nancy Drew, as he called it, followed by his fall; The Chief decided that was the only moment to go after him and Eddie Rogers. Julian thought the Chief was more concerned about his health and the angry orphan cop than he was trying to catch him. But once he found the mole in Vice, the one who was funneling all the information about the raids to Julian and Rogers, the Chief would have all the puzzle pieces needed to clear my father's name. The Mole turned out to be one of Ed's friends in Vice. It hurt him to have to arrest him. But he did.

"I assume it didn't go over well with Ed."

"No, I was glad to see Ed angry with someone other than me during that time."

"Julian didn't shoot your father?"

"It was his girlfriend, Betty Anderson. She did it because she loved Julian and wanted him to succeed. She didn't even know who dad was. He was just some cop that was bearing down hard on her man. She persuaded my father she had information about the floating casinos and agreed to meet her. He got out of his car and she shot him. He never had a chance to draw his weapon."

"So that's how you joined the Chief?"

"More like being drafted. I went very unwillingly. I didn't impress Mark or Ed at first with my police professionalism, especially Ed. It took a long time with Ed."

Eve sighed. "It took me a long while to get through to Ed that I was serious about being a cop too. But, being drafted, that's a good way to describe it," She laughed. "It happened to me just about the same way. Before becoming a cop, I'd taken a couple of years at USF, but really had nothing else on my mind but that week's sale or where the newest club was opening. I met the Chief when he was investigating a shooting in a club I was at with some friends. This was before he was shot. I gave a very detailed account of the shooting and the suspects to him. He asked me why I was wasting my time with the dilettantes. Two weeks later, an application to join the next academy class came in the mail with no return address. I guessed who it was from. I filled it out as a joke, but I found I liked police work and the rest is history. But it wasn't until just before the Chief was shot, that Ed finally accepted me as his partner. Don't know if it's that Marine attitude of his, or if he was a closet sexist like most of the department was and felt I didn't belong. But he told me the thing that impressed him first about you, was your compassion towards Betty Anderson at the end. After you found out she shot your father. Her lover was dead and you could have been totally within your rights to have the uniforms start the investigation and move the body to the Medical Examiner's office to determine who shot him. Instead you wanted her to have time with him. Ed wasn't sure he could have behaved that way. I know I wouldn't have."

I nodded. "Blame it on Catholic upbringing I guess. I would have felt guilty forever. Seriously, I didn't want her to go through what I did the night my father was killed. Not being able to say goodbye to someone you loved. It's a terrible feeling. It makes you crazy. It eats away with you. I'm still working on the forgiveness part of that, but…. "My voice trailed off.

Eve smiled again and reached out for my hand. From then on it was easy to talk to her. Our coffee grew cold and pastries uneaten as we sat and talked about cases, our families, coworkers, and lovers.

"Sam's the Assistant Chief of Detectives in Denver, but you probably know that. He's got the fire and smarts to make it to chief."

"How'd you meet?"

"At Giamatti's".

I laughed. Giamatti's was a hangout for cops. I'd met several dates there, often critiqued by my partners, who conveniently happened to be there at the time, and Ed, Mark, and I often went there for dinner or drinks after finishing a case.

Eve motioned and we got up, disposed of our trash and walked on. She pulled out her phone and scrolled up a picture of a smiling man with a square jaw and sandy brown hair.

"Good looking guy".

"He's worth sharing a life with, that's for sure." Eve said, with the giddy look of someone who had found the mother lode.

We walked quietly for a while longer, watching the joggers and couples.

"Ed said you really got hurt by this creep Glenville. You don't feel you're all the way back yet, do you?"

"No", my voice sounded small, weak.

"When I was shot, I'd just met Sam. I didn't think anyone would want such a damaged, stupid, person. Especially not the mighty Robert Ironside or this great guy I'd thought of beginning a life with. When I got out of the hospital, I dropped my resignation on the Chief's desk, called Sam and dumped him over the phone. Then I moved back into my parent's house, ready to begin the life of a dissolute, spoiled heiress, now with a bullet pucker. Finita l'commedia. "Her hands splayed out in the San Francisco gesture meaning anything from whatever to huh? Depending on how fast, widespread and directional the hands moved.

"What brought you back?" I asked.

"Ed and Mark did, with a lot of help from Sam. Mark told me daily how screwed up the office was without me. Ed reminded me of all the good I had done and could continue doing, if I came back and that the idea of my waking up each day wondering what dress I'd put on, or party I'd go to, disgusted him and I'd become quickly bored and boring and I'd hate myself. I tried it for a month just to spite them. Sam just refused to go away. He literally camped on the doorstep. One morning there was the Chief in the front room. He told me it was time to stop feeling sorry for myself and decide once and for all, either come back to work or not. And to make my choice very carefully."

"And you did."

"Yes. Two years later, I married Sam and, shortly after that, he was hired as Assistant Chief of Detectives in Denver".

"Do you miss it?"

"The work? I did at first, but not now. I have Sam and Suzanne in my life and she's a handful." Flipping through her phone, she pulled up another picture, a young girl, maybe four or five years old laughing at the photographer. Blond and blue eyed like her mother and determined like her father. "She's four, going on thirty five." Eve laughed. "Grandma and grandpa have her right now. They can't get enough of her, so that means a trip back once every two months or so."

The sky had begun to darken. The work day was ending. Workers were coming out of their offices, their jackets tightened about them to ward off the cool evening breeze coming off the bay, heading off to trendy little places to drink small glasses of artisan alcohol and eat organic local grown farm to restaurant food on equally small plates at astronomical prices. Eve lead me down another side street, steering me into a small restaurant. The sign on the outside identified the place as _Colibri_. The hostess greeted her like a long lost friend, leading us to a quiet table in the back, close to the kitchen and the bar. She called over to the bartender, "Pete, this is my friend Eve. Would you take special care of them tonight please?" I could smell chilies, garlic and onion, making me nostalgic for my mother's and grandmother's kitchens, Suddenly, I was hungry but I felt underdressed, almost shabby, passing by diners in their business Armani and Michael Kors.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 Old Friends **

From behind the bar, Pete came over and took our orders. We both ordered bourbon and soda. Clinking glasses, we smiled as we sipped. New friends with a lot of shared history between us, most of it unknown. But we were ready to find out as much as we could. I wondered why Ed had decided she might be the only one who could get through to me.

"To Bourbon: the official drink of Team Ironside." Eve said.

"I always thought it was "Marine Coffee". I laughed.

"Oh God," Eve made a face. "Ed never could make a decent cup, no matter how hard he tried. Compared to Mark though, it was drinkable."

"He still can't though. We went to Phil'z one time and Ed tried to show him how to make it. Phil almost threw him out and tried to ban him". I laughed. "I told Phil he couldn't do that, I'd write him a ticket for something if he did."

We drank some more bourbon. I could feel the fire burn down my throat. I began to relax more. "So, what do you think you can do that Ed, Mark, and the Chief can't?" I finally asked.

"Ed said you could be blunt".

I laughed. "You are so tactful. Sure he didn't say a pain in the… ?"

"It's my Nob Hill upbringing", she laughed. "I'm a lady, I wouldn't but he might have and probably did". Eve replied smoothly. She drank a bit more of her bourbon. "For starters, you are one very angry lady. I was too, after I was hurt, but not like you are. You have a real thick wall of thorns growing around you. You don't want anyone coming near you. Maybe that's due to your being more severely hurt than I was or how it happened. I'm going to hazard a guess you're not dealing with it very well at all."

"Good guess".

"Do you just think if you act tough, try to scare or push people away, people like Mark, Ed, and the Chief, that the anger will go away by itself? It doesn't work that way, you and I both know that for a fact. These guys don't scare, or let other people push them around no matter how hard you might try to do that."

No, I hadn't forgotten how Mark, Ed and the Chief behaved when they thought they were being shoved up against a wall or not given the answers they wanted. I had decided not to let them get near me so I couldn't see them or have to deal with that side of them.

"Fran, they want to help you, but don't know how. You won't tell them anything. You won't talk to them, won't see them. You're keeping them in the dark. They're concerned about you. They love you."

I was quiet. Pete brought fresh drinks. We'd switched to tequila flights of _añejo _and res_posado's,_ the really good stuff that my uncles used to bring up with them on their visits north, now a feature of trendy bars like _Colibri_ along with a beer bucket filled with chilled long necks of _Modelo_, _Dos Equis_ Amber and _Bohemia_. To anyone looking at us, we were two girlfriends, cutting loose after a hard day in the office. In effect, we were, though I doubted that any of the diners would willingly trade their corner office space or cubicles for our office space. I looked at my glass of pale gold _Tres Agaves_, trying to find some answers within it.

"I know they think I'm self- medicating. I was, but not anymore. I did for a while after I got out of the rehab center. The doctors made sure I had enough pills to make myself numb, for a long time, maybe permanently. For a time, that was all I wanted, not to feel anything. I wanted to be dead to the world. And I did a good job of it for about a month, cabernet and Percocet, was a winning combination. One morning I woke up with one hell of a hangover. I didn't know where I'd been, what I'd done or who I'd been with, if anyone. I decided I'd had enough of that. I didn't like what was happening to me. I put the pills in a container and took them over to the hospital. I was done with that. The next day, I forced myself to go walking and find the nearest NA or AA meeting. Instead, I passed the art store I used to go to before the assault. Something drew me in I ended up getting some things, and instead of AA, I found myself sketching, painting followed. It's a beginning. I've made some friends that way, but they don't know that I'm a cop. I don't want them knowing that, not yet."

From across the table I could see her blue eyes smolder. "Whether you call yourself Fran Belding or Maria Francesca Isabella Muñoz y Belding. Being a cop is part of who you are," she said tersely. "He must have truly scarred you, if you don't want to be honest with people about that."

"He won't let me go. All I can think about most days is that night. How I could have changed it. It haunts me. He haunts me." I whispered.

Eve sipped some _Muchote,_while framing her response. Finally she spoke. "My shooter haunted me too, Fran. Being shot was terrible. Dependent in the hospital, horrible, but it was the days after I was released from the hospital, those were the worst and until I got therapy, he owned me. Couldn't sleep, eat and absolutely couldn't work. I wanted to be numb to everything too. And I did a damn good job of that, just ask my parents or Sam about that.." Eve's voice was gentle.

"I wouldn't have been able to testify against him in court if I didn't do something. Sam persuaded me to get counseling. He and my therapist saved my life."

"That night Gary Glenville attacked me, he'd already picked his next victim. It was Vivian Dorsey, an art professor he was having an affair with. It turns out, his father, the Dean of the Arts and Sciences School, was having an affair with her at the same time. She'd done that deliberately; having the mutual affairs, playing them off against one another. She told Mark that it was a great thrill but a challenge to keep them separate. She was hoping that Dean Glenville would divorce his wife and if he wouldn't do that, she was ready to blackmail him into making her the Chair of the Art Department. As for me, l was taking a class from Dr. Dorsey." I gave a small ironic laugh. "It was Ed's idea I do that. He saw one of my, what I called, doodles, and suggested I might enjoy a class. So I signed up for Dr. Dorsey's class."

"Ed said you were involved in a murder investigation during all this."

"About a week after classes started, a young woman was killed. It seemed to be a random act. Campus police were doing their best to solve it. But Dean Glenville began getting threatening phone calls and letters about the murder, the blackmailer hinting very strongly that he knew the murdered girl had had a relationship with Dean Glenville and if he didn't stop his affairs, his career would be over. Two weeks later a second coed was murdered. She had an affair with him too. Students were spooked. They didn't know the connection. The threats to the Dean got worse. The Chief asked me if I'd like to look into it. How could I say no? I was on campus twice a week. I just started spending more time there."

Eve nodded. She knew all too well what happened if you told or tried to tell the Chief "no" to any of his requests. We couldn't remember a time one of us had done so.

"What happened that night?" she asked.

"I'd gone back to get a sketchbook of mine that I'd left and I wanted to ask Dr. Dorsey a couple of questions about a project I was doing. So I went to the studio after class."

Eve nodded reassuringly. I plunged on. It was time.

"On my way in, I almost got decked by someone rushing out of the studio. That turned out to be Gary Glenville. Dr. Dorsey was there, but was shall we say "occupied".

"With whom?" a faint smile played on Eve's face.

"Dean Glenville. But the son had seen her with his father and on his way out of the studio, destroyed a clay bust she'd been working on."

"Did you see him do it?" she asked.

"No, but I saw the destruction and wanted to ask Dr. Dorsey about it."

"But Glenville put two and two together and got nine."

I nodded and drank some more _Dos Equis. "_He thought I'd seen him do it. He knew I was a cop. I'd been to his house. I'd interviewed him, his mother and his father about the murders on campus and death threats Dean Glenville had received. Gary thought I had figured out things, followed me out to my car and tried to beat me to death. He claimed that he did it to save his mother's dignity and her marriage. He thought his father was going to divorce and leave her, and him, with nothing. The kid adored his mother to the point of being willing to kill anyone who he felt was a threat to her. Sad thing is she encouraged him".

"Ed said it was pretty touch and go for you for the first few days."

"It was. He tried to smother me in the hospital. Fortunately, a floor nurse just happened to come in at the right time. She saved me. The Chief still feels responsible for my aneurysm bursting because he pushed me too hard to remember things from that night. I don't blame him at all. Ed and Mark wouldn't have had much to work on if I hadn't been able to remember details. Gary Glenville would have gotten away. Two sets of parents would still be wondering who killed their children or why. Maybe I should pack it in. I'm no good to anyone right now. I don't know if I'll ever be."

"What would you do?"

"I don't know. I've got some money from my parents; there'd be disability, a pension. And then there's the matter of that money in dad's bank account. If they can't determine where it came from, that's mine too. I could travel, maybe paint, I'm not sure." I took an appreciative sip of the _Tres Agaves,_ following it with beer.

"Sounds like you're thinking through this, but you'd still be looking over your shoulder everywhere. He's going to get out of the hospital someday. You're going to get that "courtesy" call from Victim's Advocacy telling you he's "sane", and can't be held at Napa anymore. You have to take away his power now. If you don't, you've allowed him to destroy you just as if he'd been able to take your life that night in the parking lot."

"I saw the department counselor right after I got out of rehab. You know what he told me?"

"Let me guess…He said these supportive things to you. "Count your lucky stars you're alive. Be thankful for that and life will be better once you get back in the saddle and get back to work."

I sat stunned, "you too?"

"Yeah, BooSoo" Eve said, referring to BSU, the department behavioral studies unit "can be a joke. I think therapy can be helpful, if done well. It certainly was for me. Fortunately, the department will show you a list of available therapists. They won't tell you who's good. A friend recommended the one I saw."

There was a long pause as I contemplated what she was offering me. "Share the name with a sister blue?" I finally asked.

"I was hoping you'd ask". She slid a business card across the table to me.

I picked it up. "Janet Parkman. What does she know about?" My voice trailed off.

"She was a beat cop, worked fifteen years out of Taraval Station, Ingleside Terrace mostly, while she was getting her degrees, then worked Departmental Counseling, realized she wanted to work with cops, especially female cops, but on her terms. She's worked with victims of torture, substance abuse, domestic violence, things of that nature. She'll make you work, but she's good."

I swallowed hard. "I…. don't….. go out at night anymore alone. I hate the dark… I need to be in the open all the time. I'm ready to walk away from a job I love. Mark and Ed, the Chief, who've become my family, my friends; I just want to push them away. Right now, you seem to be the only one who understands me just a little bit and I barely know you."

"Just think of me as the older sister you secretly always wanted." We both laughed at that.

"Ed and Mark understand what you're going through a lot better than you think. I know Ed had doubts about continuing after he was shot in LA. He says you were there for him the entire time he was in rehab. You came down just about every weekend and visited. You smuggled him out of the hospital to use his words, and took him to baseball games. You brought his favorite sandwiches down to him, including once or twice the Chief's chili, complete with beer. Mark wouldn't have gotten through the last year of law school if you hadn't been there for him. You covered shifts for him, commented on papers for him, typed them when he needed it, stayed with the Chief when he had to study or work late. You didn't have to do that for him. But you did."

"We're partners, that's what partners do for each other", I mumbled, suddenly understanding what she was getting at and feeling incredibly stupid at the realization.

Eve saluted me with her shot glass then threw back a shot of _Hornitos_, her eyes widening slightly as the alcohol hit. She closed them, savoring the _resposado._ "God, that's good."

I drank some more beer.

"For some reason Fran, I've been held out as the be all and end all of female cops and you felt you had to measure up to me. That's a hell of a burden for anyone and I'm sorry about that. From what I've learned about you, you're a good person as well as a good cop. Now that I know you, I would have been proud to have partnered with you. It would be a real loss if you left. If you're going to walk away from all that, you better know exactly why you're doing it." Eve drank some beer from her glass. "I'm planning on staying here with Mom and Dad for a couple of weeks, mainly so they can spoil the little Princess. I intend to get some massages, go to dance class, see the bay, take in some culture, and engage a lot of eating and retail therapy. Interested?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"That's a start. You call Dr. Parkman. I'll even ride along to the first appointment with you. My friends here think it's_ quaint_." She punctuated the word with her fingers, " that I had a real job and now, having married a cop, and having a child,raising her without a nanny like they all do and that I do things like clean my own house. I'm even quainter. I can take them only in small doses now. They didn't understand me when I became a cop and they sure don't understand me anymore and I don't care if they ever do. Being with you will be good for me as well."

A new flight of tequila was placed on the table. I looked at it suspiciously.

"If I were a detective, I'd swear you were trying to get me drunk." I laughed.

Eve grinned wickedly. "Nope, I'm just trying to show a sister who could use one, a good time."

The hostess moved towards us. "Eve, your guests are here. Shall I seat them?"

"Oh, please do Rose; I didn't realize that it was that time already". She signaled to Pete "Bring us two more of these and keep them coming." She said, pointing at the drinks.

I felt panicky and rose from the table. I didn't care to be on display to her friends. _See my latest social work project. _I'm going to make her all better. I fumbled for some money. "I'll leave now. Thank you for today." I handed her a card. "Here's my cell. Call me if you would like to get together."

"One thing you can do starting now, is, as you said, stop pushing people who care about you as far away from you as possible." She smiled. "You're one of my dinner guests".

"Hey, two of my favorite ladies in the same room." A familiar baritone voice floated behind me.

I turned to see Mark Sanger behind me, arms extended for a hug. Behind him, grinning broadly was Ed Brown.

"Are we in time for the intervention?" Ed asked.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 Dinner's On Me Tonight **

I allowed myself to be enveloped in my partners' hugs.

"You just missed it" I replied in a whisper.

"Good" Ed said, hugging me harder. "Does this mean you'll start answering your phone now?"

I nodded. "Yes, promise." I could feel tears sting the corners of my eyes.

He smiled. "Good." There was something about his voice and the look he gave me. It was different. I felt that he truly had missed me.

I'd forgotten the healing power of friendship. Catching up with Mark talking about his wife, Diana, and her new successful career as a prosecutor, telling about the latest cases they were working on, bringing us up to speed on the latest department gossip. Making Eve and me laugh until our sides ached over the latest in what we called the "stupid crime files." Ed, Mark and I, held a weekly contest for the best or rather the worst crime story, based on the police reports filed in our fair city. The cop who filed the report was treated anonymously to dinner and drinks at Giamatti's and Danny, the bartender, was instructed never to reveal who was buying them their drinks or why they had been chosen for the honor.

"So, here's today's best crime report." Mark began.

Ed rolled his eyes. "NOT that one."

Mark grinned. "You mean the one I got called in on this morning? Oh yeah, I already sent the arresting officer an invite for next week."

"Oh Lord, I feel for this guy. I really do." Ed said. "But what a dim bulb he was".

"Are you going to let me tell this story or not, man?"

Ed threw up his hands laughing, "Your story, tell the tale of woe.".

Mark smiled broadly "So, this dude decides to rob the Wells Fargo at the Civic Center. It all starts good. He drops the note on the teller, flashes a gun to scare her. Gets the cash drawer. So far so good, right? Then it all starts going…." He began laughing, a sure sign the poor schlemiel was going to be a resident of the jail before long.

"... _south_ on him. So he's bookin' outta the bank and first sign it isn't going to be his day is when he drops the bag at the door. Half the loot spills on the floor. He's scared now and running, getting chased down the street by the security guard and some of the customers too. Then he discovers he's locked his keys inside the getaway car with the engine running. That's when everyone catches up to him. He tries to get away from these angry folks but he trips, falls down, and then, he manages to shoot himself in the leg, with his own gun."

We laughed until I could see even Eve wiping tears from her eyes.

"By the time I got there, I was basically needing to save this guy's sorry ass from the crowd. This guy was thanking me for saving him." Mark finished.

"Oh my" Eve said, "what a schlub."

We calmed down after that. Noticing that some of the other patrons were giving us the look. Cops weren't supposed to laugh, have fun or private lives. They were public servants, emphasis on the servant, for this group of people.

I saw Ed out of the corner of my eye, as he took in the fact that his plan might actually be working. Eve began talking about life in Denver, Sam's job and Suzanne's adventures as she discovered life. I was feeling better than I had for a long time. Some of it could have been attributed to the warm feeling I had from the alcohol, but I knew that she'd been right. I needed help but I'd been too busy building locked doors, walls, moats and hedges, keeping out those who could help me the most, because they loved me. I could feel those barriers slowly begin to crumble.

"So, what have you ladies been up to today?" Ed asked after Pete had returned with more tequila and beer and taken our dinner orders.

"What else do women cops do on days off", Eve laughed, "coffee, talking, walking, talking, eating, talking, more coffee, and now dinner and drinks at a fine restaurant with two handsome men and of course, more talking. Why it took so long for me to finally meet Fran is beyond me." She pointed a manicured finger at the two men. "I'm blaming **_you_**, Ed Brown, and **_you_**, Mark Sanger, as well as the Chief. I think you two were afraid we'd hit it off and I'd tell Fran **_everything_** I knew about you two. Especially how badly you treated me when I first joined the Chief, Sergeant Brown. But you're not going to hear any of that tonight. I'm saving that for the next two weeks, and just for Fran's ears, so you're safe…. for tonight, boys."

"Oh man, we are so screwed now." I heard Mark say from across the table.

Eve continued, her voice brightening. "But we had fun today and tomorrow we're going shopping, which can be even more fun. How's the world of law enforcement? You and Mark have any fun today?"

Ed grimaced, scrunching up his face. "It's busy and the Chief is more bite and bark than usual. So it's been _real_ fun, _lots_ of fun." His voice was tinged with sarcasm. "Fran, please, you gotta come back. Soon. We need you"

"Uhh Ed…." Mark's voice was low

Ed continued his vent, not realizing Eve was setting him up. "Not just to run the office. The Chief's even more short tempered, cranky and contrarian than usual. We can't do anything right. You've got that knack to calm him down."

"No, really, man. Ed, you gotta stop". Mark began again, trying to get his attention about something. Eve was trying hard not to break into laughter.

From where I sat, next to Ed, I couldn't see anything until I heard that distinctive voice. I turned. There he was.

"Well, well, well, it's a reunion." Robert Ironside spoke up from the next table, where he was sitting with his longtime companion, Katharine Wainwright. Somehow he'd managed to come in and sit by us without any of us noticing. We knew there had to be reasons for him being here, and once he dispensed with the sarcasm, we'd find out why.

"Eve, why didn't you tell me you were in town and that you and Fran were such good friends? Officer Belding, it's a special treat to see you tonight. You're looking well. Are you considering coming back to work? There are some cases that could use your accounting expertise. In fact, as long as I'm here, I have a little gift for you. Mark, weren't you supposed to have a shift tonight?" He turned his chair to face the now red faced Ed Brown.

"Sergeant Brown, I'm concerned. Me? Contrarian? Short tempered? Cranky? Barking and biting? Why haven't you shared your feelings with me before? I'm hurt you haven't. We'll talk later about this. But, frankly, I'm shocked to see you all carrying on like this. It seems like you're having a bit too much fun. How fortunate for me though that you chose a place that serves good Mexican food. There's no chili on the menu though. I'm betting Eve must have chosen this place."

Turning to Katherine, I heard him say smiling "She doesn't like to eat chili very often." He waved his hand. "or at least not mine"

Eve glared at him. "I heard that Chief!"

"Pete, how close can Kate and I get to this unruly children's table?" Ironside asked. "I think they need a couple of adults to keep them out of trouble."

"Somehow he found out about this. Not from me", Eve whispered to me. "It was supposed to be just you, me, Diana, Mark and Ed."

"And Eve, since you're looking so concerned, you can blame your mother for this happy accident. She told me where you were. You're to call her when you're safely in a taxi tonight, unless you close this place down. Considering who you're with, I told her that would be a distinct possibility. And Mark, blame Diana for telling me that Eve was in town. Sorry she couldn't join us tonight. She's in court tomorrow, right? The Ferry trial, isn't it. "

"Yes sir". Mark replied.

"I wish her well. Ferry needs to be taken off the streets **permanently**. She's just the person who can do that."

He waved his hand again. Pete came over. We were moved to a larger table and Ironside handed him two bottles.

"I know this isn't on the cellar list, but I want to open and share it. Let it breathe about fifteen minutes before serving this, will you?"

Pete looked at the bottles. "That won't be a problem Chief."

While we waited, Pete brought appetizers none of us had ordered.

"I don't know why, but I've decided that dinner is on me tonight," Ironside said as we nibbled on ceviche, sopes and queso fundito. " But I'm glad you're all here. Katherine and I couldn't think of anyone else we wanted to share this news with. First…" Ironside paused as a waiter brought wine glasses for each, and Pete carefully filled them with a dark red wine.

"The first news is that I have bought a ranch near Santa Rosa in Sonoma. No, I'm not retiring….. at least not yet. I'm looking at going out in three years. But when I do, I'll be growing grapes, making wine. For now, there's a lot of work to be done out there and you're all welcome to help anytime you can come., I'll pay you in all the chili you can eat. This" he said pointing to the wine, "is a test batch of a Cabernet I want to make. The grapes I bought from a local farmer. I've got a man out there now adding to the current vineyard so about the time I retire, in three years, I'll have the grapes, watch them grow and start bottling my own wine.

We took turns admiring the color and aroma then Mark raised his glass. "To Château Ironside, the first of many fine bottles".

"Hear, hear", we said, then sampled. It was good. It was full bodied, dry, yet there was a sweetness to it. The Chief had created a wine with characteristics very much like himself. We took turns congratulating him and his winemaker. The Chief looked pleased. It was strange hearing him talk about retirement though.

"And, I'm happy to announce that this lovely woman has agreed to marry me at last. We've set a date for September 21 at the ranch".

Ed stood, raising his glass. I could see the happiness in his face. "Chief, Katherine, congratulations all our love and much happiness to you both." The rest of us chimed in our good wishes.

Well, now that we've celebrated my success. Let's have one more." He looked at me. "Fran, this is for you."

Pushing away from the table, he rolled his chair to where I sat.

"Young lady, you took the Sergeant's Exam without telling any of us, especially me. According to Commissioner Randall, you scored higher than 97 percent of those who took the test. So, everyone have a drink? Good. A toast is in order." The Chief pulled an envelope and reading glasses from his inside jacket, unfolded a sheet of paper, cleared his throat and began. "It is the decision, of the Police Commissioners of the City of San Francisco, that Officer Maria Francesca Isabella Muñoz y Belding, better known to her family, as Fran," He said as an aside, then continued, "be promoted this day to the rank of Sergeant, with all the privileges and benefits said rank is endowed with.

Congratulations". His voice faded off.

I sat stunned. I'd taken the exam just before the attack. I meant to tell the Chief I'd done it, but with everything that had happened, I'd forgotten. I'd just stopped caring about getting the results. I was dimly aware of chairs scraping around me. I looked up to see Ed, Mark, Katherine and Eve standing around me, raising their glasses.

The Chief hugged my hands tightly. "Your father… and your mother, would be so proud of you."

I could see a softness in the corners of his eyes. I nodded, unable to trust my voice. I'd taken the test, not so much for me, but for the Chief, Mark and Ed. It was my way of saying thank you for staying with me and teaching me how to be a good cop. Something dad would have done if he'd stayed alive. I wrapped my arms around his neck and we sat like that for a time, oblivious to everyone else there.

"If you're thinking you're getting my parking space, it isn't happening," Ed laughed.

"Oh _Sarge_," Mark called out. "I've got some parking tickets maybe you could take care of for me."

"Speech." Eve called. The others pounded on the table. Haltingly I got up. The Chief poured more wine in my glass.

"I did this because you all gave me the encouragement and strength to take that test. You're my family, all of you." I raised my wine glass.

Glasses clinked. "To family", they chorused.

By the time we finished dinner, the Chief insisting on desert, coffee and after dinner brandy, the restaurant had closed. Pete stood behind the bar, patiently waiting for us. The Chief paid the bill, gave Pete an envelope and we shuffled out. Eve reminded me that we'd meet about ten at Phil'z for coffee and plan out the day. The Chief and Katherine got into the Chief's Jeep ,driving in one direction and Mark and Eve flagging a cab to ride to midtown and Nob Hill. I waved good night to them and started walking the opposite direction of the cab. Walking was something I used to do frequently before the assault. It felt good tonight.

"Hey," Ed called out to me. "It's after two am. How do you think you're getting home?"

"It's a nice night. Thought I'd walk. It's not too far."

"Well then, let me walk with you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 Slow Walk on a Fast Night (Apologies to John Adams)**

The walk home was filled with little small talk. Ed was never really good at that, so there were a lot of companionable silences. He slowed from his usual brisk pace in acknowledgement of my still healing body. Finally we were standing in front of my apartment building.

"And here I guess is where I say goodnight". He grinned down at me.

"Wait, before you go. I need to tell you something. When I got to the situational part of the test, I kept thinking, how you would have dealt with it. Solved the problem, you know. And, it worked". I could feel my voice speed up and jump an octave. A sure sign I was nervous.

**"WWEBD?** _What Would Ed Brown Do?_ I like that. Maybe I should put that on a bracelet, sell it to those who're taking the next Sergeant's test. Inspire them to greatness. Split the profits with you of course. Seriously, even though you didn't ask me for any actual help, I'm glad I could help you on the test. It's a bear, isn't it, Sergeant Belding."

I liked the fact he used my new title and how he said it. As if we were equals. I nodded an assent.

"And now, as long as we're telling truths, it's my turn to tell you something. When we, when I, wasn't sure you were going to make it in the hospital that first night, I made a promise to you. When we met, it wasn't good between us. I remember what I said to you after that night in the restaurant in the office."

"Lady, if you ever need help. Don't call me." I finished.

"I was so angry then, my partner was gone. The chief, he was hurting, not going to see the doctor. Then you come on board and the chief hurts himself again and I blame it on you, entirely. I didn't try to be in any way.."

"The charming fellow I see before me right now?"

He laughed and shook out a cigarette from his pack. He lit it and drew a deep inhale. "What I'm trying to say, is that you make me crazy, Maria Francesca Isabella Muñoz y Belding. You have from the beginning. I think I know you, and then something happens and I don't."

I looked at him and brought his hand up to my lips, brushing it gently. "_No podía ayudarme_. I couldn't help myself. It's what I used to say when I got into trouble with my mother. Usually when she had to take me home following my fighting one of the boys in class. Mamita would tell me, over and over, "_Mija_, s_e hicieron dificultades que hay que superar_." Daughter, _Difficulties were made to be overcome. _I miss those conversations so much."

"You don't talk a lot about your mom."

"Mamita was an incredible person. She loved my father very much. She married an outsider, an Anglo, a policía. Sometimes, her family didn't take it well. They all thought dad was with immigration and would find a way to deport them. It was hard to be a cop's wife too. She wasn't like the other cop's wives. But she just kept loving us. I was fourteen, almost fifteen, when she died. I came home from school one day. I went to Mission Dolores. Burst through the door, said, "Hola Mama" and ran upstairs to get that uniform off me. When she didn't say anything, I went downstairs. She was in the kitchen…..on the floor…They said later she'd had a massive heart attack. She was alone when she died, Ed, and I didn't get a chance to say goodbye, or tell her I loved her one last time. Life was hard for me after her death. I was living in a Hispanic neighborhood with traditional values and expectations. My father was a single parent who tried to keep me out of trouble. I was not an easy child for him to raise alone. I kept saying n_o podía ayudarme_ a great deal of the time as my explanation for everything, It wasn't until I went to USF that I finally started to settle down."

"The anger you had towards everyone, after the Chief got you assigned here."

"Wouldn't you have felt a bit like me if everyone around you thought your father was a bad cop. Mark, the Chief, my cousin Beto, you. Every cop I knew, and I knew a hell of a lot of them, thought Dave Belding was corrupt. You could hear doors slam all over the city the day after my father was buried. People I thought loved my father. And you don't think I didn't know your attitude towards dirty cops? You were Sergeant Ed Brown, Ironside's Man, Eagle Scout, rule enforcer, Mr. Squeaky Clean. I overheard you tell someone once, "I hate dirty cops". So here I am, the daughter of a dead and very "dirty" cop. To have to go into work every day, wondering how or if I would get help, if I needed it from my coworkers. Then the Chief wants to keep an eye on me. He transfers me to the office. I have to work with you, the incorruptible, perfect, Sergeant Ed Brown. Certain you were thinking "like father, like daughter", every time I was in your presence. I could almost feel it ooze out of your pores like sweat. But to your credit, you always made sure you acted like the consummate professional at all times and made me do the same, even when I didn't want to. Even when I deserved every bit of anger you had towards me. You were professional, every step of the way."

"Oh God, Fran, if I could only have told you about Anne earlier."

"When you told me about Anne that night, after we stopped them. It was so clear then. How dearly you loved her, the life you were going to make for yourselves and how Tom Dayton so brutally murdered her and your dreams and that you didn't get to say goodbye to her. We had some things in common. We'd both lost people we loved deeply, very violently. Our lives had been shattered. You wanted to tell me I could pick up the pieces and live again, even if we couldn't say goodbye."

"When you came, I'd lost my partner" Ed began. "She didn't die. She didn't tell us she was resigning. She just invited us all to the wedding, and then she didn't come back after her honeymoon. She didn't tell us she wasn't coming back. She just didn't. Mark couldn't be my partner, because he wasn't a cop. The Chief was hurting. I was afraid for him. What would happen to him if he didn't take care of his injury? Then you came. You were so new, so full of righteous anger. I didn't want to deal with you or your anger because I was too angry myself. I decided you couldn't be an asset to us, to me. I decided you were never going to be my partner, not the way Eve was. And most importantly I was mad at Eve for leaving and **you weren't Eve.**

"It's taken me a while to accept this, but I'm never going to be Eve. I can only be me."

There was a feeling that something important had just happened between us. We had said exactly what was in our hearts and although it could have gone that other way, we had treated each other kindly. Maybe it was the booze speaking, but it seemed that something that had needed to be resolved just had. I felt calmer and happier. Ed looked more relaxed. Why had it taken so long for us to say what had been on our minds?

"What was it your mother would say to you, "Difficulties were made to be overcome?

I nodded.

He bent down and kissed me. "What I promised, was to always be there for you, no matter what. I wasn't going to lose you."

Ed kissed me again. This time the kiss had some body English to it. I responded in kind. We broke apart. I was flushed. He was breathing hard.

I took his hand and led him up the steps into the building.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6 Carnival Of The Animals**

"So we went upstairs, sat on the couch, were talking, laughing and then we both fell asleep right there."

Eve started coughing mid sip, trying not to laugh. "So much for romantic evenings. Girlfriend, I really need to teach you some moves."

I laughed thinking about what kind of moves she'd put on Sam Dwyer. We were at Phil'z, and once again, Phil had acted like a mother hen over us. Finally I told him Eve was a friend, not a potential buyer and that today, I'd be paying the bill. Phil waved his hand dismissively. I wondered what type of tab I was running here.

"But you did kiss". She said.

"Yes"

"And he did start it."

"Yes." I nodded drawing out the word, all the time blushing.

"And he didn't look like he was going to have root canal when you invited him up."

"No".

"And you did have serious make out before this crashing on the couch?"

I felt myself grow hot, as if a small forest fire had started on my face and was working down my body. "Yes, a bit" I grinned.

Eve sighed with satisfaction. "Love to see happy people."

We drank more coffee. I searched out a pain chocolat and nibbled on it. "It's kind of weird. I'm afraid I'd blow what could be a great partnership by falling in love and having a relationship with him."

"So you are thinking of going back to work."

"I'll see after I meet with Dr. Parkman."

"And that is?"

"This Thursday at 2. Dropping your name helped get me in faster, I think."

Eve pulled out her iPhone and punched in a message "'Kay. It's in the book."

"Listen Eve, you don't have to come."

"I promised you I would, and I keep my promises to my friends." She gave me a look that indicated the matter was closed. "But I have to change plans today. Shopping that is. Suzanne decided that she needed to go to the zoo today, and" she checked her watch. "My dad should be here just, about …" She got up as a tall, handsome, silver haired, well- dressed man came in, attached to a bouncing young girl. "_now_. Daddy! Here I am." She waved.

"Howard Whitfield, my friend, Fran Belding. She works for the Chief with Mark and Ed."

We exchanged greetings. Her father looked somewhat relieved to be getting a break from his energetic granddaughter.

"Mommy! Mommy! Go SOO! **GO SOO ****NOW****!** Suzanne begged.

"Your mother expects you home for dinner tonight Eve." Her father said with mock sternness. "No closing down bars."

"I will Daddy. I Promise. No bars for me tonight. " Eve replied with equal seriousness. "May I bring company?"

"Let cook know" came the answer. "She's preparing your favorites, Crab Newburg and Cioppino. She'll want to make sure there's enough. I'll be at the club this afternoon. Your mother will be playing mahjongg at the Chin's today. " He bent over to accept a kiss from his daughter and granddaughter, waved a goodbye and left the building.

"Can you come for dinner tonight?" Eve asked, a pleading tone to her voice. "And welcome to my life. Think I'd take Sunday's at Phil'z anytime over the Navy Club and Mah jongg. Though bridge is pretty bad. Emmy Chin and I became really good friends because of it. We watched our mother's play mah jongg for decades and neither of us will go near a table if you paid us to play. I much prefer poker. Maybe we can get a game going with the guys before I leave? She picked up her daughter who was clad in jeans and a bright orange sweatshirt that blared "**Denver Broncos**".

"That daughter of yours lives dangerously wearing that shirt here." I quipped.

"Her daddy took her to meet Peyton Manning. She loves him."

"Bet she'd feel the same about Jerry Rice". I shot back.

"Susie, this is Fran. She's a good friend of mine. She paints pictures and is a cop like your daddy".

She looked at me wide eyed for a scant second then ignored me, which was ok. I had a feeling that I'd be spending a lot of time with her. Looking up at her mother Suzanne looked as if she was going to cry. Her mother was taking too long to fill a promise.

"Mommy go soo now, please! I wanna see lions."

"Feel like a trip to the zoo?" Eve asked, her eyes pleading for some support.

I grabbed my camera sack out of the backpack. "Might be a very good day for some photos." I said.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7 CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN BELDING**

The night before my appointment with Janet Parkman, I slept poorly. Gary Glenville taking center stage in my dreams, reluctant to loosen his hold on me. Before I woke foggy brained and exhausted, my stomach knotted with that familiar feeling of dread once more, I was forced to repeatedly relive that night. My subconscious mind refused to let me flee. He kept taunting me. Calling me a stupid little Latina whore; a slut, accusing me of sleeping with his father like the other murdered women did, of disrespecting his mother. Telling me I deserved to die like the others had. What kind of bitch was I to think I could mess with him? He was going teach me something only a real man could. I could hear his excitement as he grabbed me around the neck. I could smell his body as he pulled me closer to him. I felt the air escape from me as my body struggled to fight him off. Then there was the moment I saw and felt first the driver's window then the hood of my car as my head hit it, followed by the shock of pain, then the blackness, deeper and darker than any I'd ever experienced before. When I was finally released from the train wreck movie playing in my head, my sheets were tangled and soaked with sweat, my throat hoarse. Once more, I'd unknowingly screamed myself awake. I looked up at my ceiling, wondering why I thought that going to see Eve's shrink would help. Why had I agreed to it? Lying there in the mess of my bed, I came up with my escape plan. I'd tell Dr. Parkman that I'd been drunk when I agreed to see her. I'd been plied with tequila and I'd just wanted to stop Eve Dwyer from asking questions she had no business asking, making an appointment only to get her off my back. Today, I was fine, thank you very much doctor, recovering nicely, both mentally and physically, and I'd be sure to settle the bill on my way out the door. I'm sorry to have taken up your time, which could have been used on someone with real problems. I felt that nothing she could offer would help, nor was there anything that really could. I threw the bed sheets off, dragged myself out of bed, showered, dressed, made coffee, and took a thermos cup over to the small park across the street from the apartment drinking it while watching the sky brighten and the fog start to burn off. I hadn't liked the last shrink I went to. I'd gone only because it had been decided for me that I was on duty the night I was attacked. It was therefore a Workman's Compensation case, and I knew that the department wanted to cover themselves from all eventualities, including placing me on medical retirement or more critical, my filing a negligence lawsuit against the department. The shrink I met with was the assistant head of BSU, the Behavioral Science Unit.

What we all called _Boo Soo_. He'd stared at me, owl eyed, over his glasses from across his polished desk with the bay view, my file open before us on the desktop, uttering jargon laden phrases and platitudes, asking what I thought were inane questions, about my relationship with Mark and Ed, did I think of them as more than just professional partners and the Chief. Wasn't I just substituting him as a father surrogate for my deceased father? I felt that he wasn't about helping me. He'd never spent a day in a cop's shoes. His concern, I felt, was a sham, a way to wheedle into my confidence. The array of diplomas and certificates on his walls showed me he spent far more time in academia and conference presentations than he did walking a beat with an officer or handling a call. He never dealt with the immediacy of a shooting, or had to deal with people whose lives were changed by one senseless action, or got called any of the names we were called or took the other abuse we faced. He certainly got to go home to his family at 5 pm every weekday, had the weekends and holidays off and would never understand the schedule Ironside had us on. He was more concerned about my wanting to date the people I worked with, or if I was looking for a new father, than he was in finding out how I neglected friends and family, hiding from them after being let out of the hospital and transferred to the rehab center. He certainly should have been interested in my becoming a fixture at liquor stores on Geary and my overreliance on the painkillers prescribed for me. He admitted during our last session that he really just wanted to know when I thought I could work again. How was I to know? He was the professional.

Eve had said Dr. Parkman was different. She saw her as having two advantages; she'd started out as a beat cop before changing careers and she knew how ask the hard questions and get answers that would actually help. Eve had said that she had worked very hard with her. Eve had done that in our first conversation, her questions and comments had been direct, but I'd taken it and dared her to dish out more. In retrospect, maybe Nietzsche was right, possibly I was stronger than I looked or thought. I decided it was time that perhaps I should ignore Escape Plan A, and accept that it was time to develop a Plan B, one that included my friends and Janet Parkman.

I could feel the sun beginning to warm me. My mug was empty and I debated going back to the apartment and getting another cup. Across the way, I heard the muffled sounds of conversation and saw the small group of people that came to the park faithfully each morning greeting each other and beginning to perform the graceful dance movements of Tai Chi. Many of them were dressed in the traditional white Mandarin collared button down jacket and broad black pants. I began to pull out the small pad I kept in my back pocket to sketch them. Just as I started; the leader smiled at me gesturing that I should join them instead. Smiling back, I shook my head and started to refuse, but then I felt drawn them. Walking towards them, I found a spot on the grass and, as best I could, joined the dance.


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8 I Just Dropped In To See What Condition My Condition Was In**

I broke with my usual routine following Tai Chi. I found that I enjoyed it and that it was far more physical than I thought. The leader, an older man named Benton Liang, talked with me afterwards over tea at a nearby coffeehouse inviting me to come any morning I wanted to. I didn't have to wear the "uniform", he said, just some comfortable clothes, but, he added, appraising me, if I had ballet slippers, I'd find them more comfortable than athletic shoes.

I wonder how he knew I'd done all the obligatory dance classes from Folklorio, to Irish step, to ballet, as a kid. More and more people were discovering the benefits of Tai Chi, he continued, and more young people were studying it because they wanted to perform the elegant aerials they saw in the movies _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon or The __Matrix. _He did this because he believed in its philosophy and also had a more practical reason for doing this. He liked the social nature of working out with a group of people every day.

"Like chicken soup. It is food for the body and spirit." He told me laughing.

I left him feeling in far better spirits than I had on waking up and continued walking towards my apartment, warming up a bowl of tortilla soup when I got there. I ate it on my back porch that afforded a small peek of Garfield Park, where earlier I could have viewed the Tai Chi group but now watched kids playing basketball. I looked at my cell phone, it read 11:15. I had plenty of time. Going back in the house, I rinsed the bowl in the sink and moved to the small closet I used as a combination office and art cabinet. I remember when I asked Ed and Mark to help me build it. Three large sausage pizzas and two six packs of Anchor Stream later, it was done and Diana and I were painting it. I loved the space. I took an easel and a prepared canvas off the shelf, along with some watercolors and brushes and went back out to the porch. I began to sketch what I saw, young teens, almost men, playing the classic game of skins and shirts. The sketch went quickly and soon I found myself applying colors.

I must have really lost myself in the work, because I seemingly didn't come up for air until I heard a loud knock at the door.

"Fran! Fran! It's Eve. Are you there?"

Hastily I threw on fresh clothes and dragged a brush through my hair. I opened the door to see Eve with a somewhat panicked expression on her face.

"What were you painting?" she asked with relief as I let her in.

"How'd you know I was?"

I was a detective once and you've got paint smears on your face". She laughed as I went off to wash it.

I was quiet on the ride over to Dr. Parkman's office. I'd discovered that Eve had that gift of allowing for silence when necessary. While she drove, I reviewed the instructions I'd been given. Enter through the door marked private, sit in the lounge and wait until Dr. Parkman invited me into the office. I could do that.

The car stopped.

"Fran, we're here" Eve said softly.

I must have lost track of where I was and the time. I looked at the address she gave and gaped at the house. It was one of the original "Painted Ladies" of San Francisco. It was gorgeous. Therapy had been very good to Janet Parkman.

Eve must have read my mind. "Family house. I felt the same way the first time I saw her. It's been in her family since the earthquake of oh six. Want me to go in with you?"

"No, I can do that much. Thanks though."

She gave me a sisterly hug. "It will be ok. Really."

With that, I got out of the car, walked up the steps to the porch and went in.

I was alone in the waiting room. There were no others waiting for a patient or an appointment, no secretary, just me. I took a magazine from a rack, sat down and began to glance through it. I could feel my stomach rumble. A bad sign. I heard a door open across the hall followed by the click of the front door. I waited a few minutes more."Fran Belding? Janet Parkman". We shook hands and went across the hall to her well-appointed office. She motioned for me to sit down in a comfortable chair, while she took a seat in the black Aeron chair behind the desk. I took the time to notice her. She was older than me, tall, her hair slightly graying, dressed in very tailored, not at all flashy, manner. Professional.

She steepled her fingers. "Tell me why you're here today."

"About four months ago, I was almost beaten to death." I swallowed. "I'm at a crossroads and don't know which way I'm going."

She nodded "Tell me more about what happened then."

I started by giving her the little details first, the inconsequential ones. She said nothing but let me talk in ever smaller circles, occasionally proffering a question, or encouraging me to elaborate. Finally I broke down bawling, telling her about the night I decided to end it all, courtesy of the prescribed painkillers and tranquilizers and the two fifths of vodka I'd bought at a little store down the street from me. I was having a party I told the clerk, who took my money and handed over two bottles of cheap 100 proof blue label Popov.

She handed me a box of tissues and waited while I composed myself.

"What made you decide to live?" She said quietly.

"_No podía_ _ayudarme_. _I couldn't help myself. _That's what I always said to my mother every time I got into trouble. I was drunk enough that night that I was having an argument with a ghost. Her response was always the same, to hug me tightly and whisper "_Se hicieron dificultades que hay que superar_." _Difficulties were made to be overcome." _

"Do you think she was with you that night?

"I'm not superstitious, but yes. I think she was. I was arguing with her. She kept telling me I could overcome this."

"Your mother died when?"

"I was fourteen. I found her in the kitchen. Dead of a heart attack".

"Father alive?"

"No. He was killed in the line of duty four years ago."

"Any family?"

"A cousin here in the city. He's with the police. You might know him Sergeant Rod Pena, Detectives. Otherwise they're all in Mexico."

"You see them often?"

"Not any more. Not since my mother died." The Sunday's at Phil'z after Mass were a long ago memory.

"Attending AA or NA?"

"Neither. I took the pills to San Francisco General a month ago, and went back to drawing and painting. I was looking for a meeting that day and instead walked into the art supply place I used to go to. Walked out a couple hundred dollars poorer, but I've been working steadily for almost a month now."

"I'd love to see what you do. Would you consider bringing some work in?"

I agreed to the request. She might not be an artist, but she might see how I was releasing some of the anger inside me.

There was a pause. "Do you have any kind of substance abuse problems I need to know about?"

"No. I drink socially but not like a fish. I can remember what I did the night before now."

"Other support for you getting healthy?"

I told her about Eve's visit, Mark, the Chief and began telling her about Ed.

"Is that enough?" She asked.

"I 'm not sure if I can overcome this enough to go back to work with the Chief".

"Do you want to?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. I'm just tired of saying I can't help myself." Frustrated, I heard a soft chime. The session was over.

"That is something I think we can work together on. As your mother said, difficulties were made to be overcome. It's a starting place. It's not necessarily going to be easy. When do you go back to BooSoo for your psych eval?"

"Five weeks. About the time my leave is done."

"I think we should plan on another meeting this week and then at least two a week. Is that something you can do?"

I nodded.

"Good. I'd like to see you tomorrow if you can make it, I know it's Friday and you might have plans. But we can decide on a regular schedule. This time work for you?"

"Yes"

She scribbled in her schedule book. "Good. Tomorrow at two it is." She smiled at me.


	9. Chapter 9

**CHAPTER 9 Peter Pan, She Isn't**

Eve's car was nowhere to be seen as I stepped out of the Parkman house and into the sun. Instead, I saw Ed Brown's lanky figure, dressed in his usual attire, slightly rumpled suit, shirt collar unbuttoned and slightly open, tie loosely knotted. He leaned against his city provided black Dodge Charger's front fender with his arms crossed, a relaxed position for him. Looking at him, I was felt as if I was being set up and I was going to let both Ed and Eve know how I felt about this. I crossed the street to the car.

"Officer, do we have a problem?" I asked somewhat dryly.

Ed grinned. "Afraid your ride got cancelled Fran. Suzanne thought she could fly and instead, she crash landed in the back yard. She'll be fine, but she broke her collarbone and her left arm. Eve's a little panicked."

I felt awful. I'd thought one thing and I was wrong. Ed was just being a friend. "Where is she?"

"St Mary's Pediatrics".

"Eve could probably use some friends right now, don't you think?" I said.

Ed scooted around the car opening the passenger side door for me. "Yes ma'am, I believe so." He said shutting the door firmly behind me.

On the way over, I made Ed stop at my apartment. He grumbled, but understood the reason for the stop. At the hospital, Ed parked the car in the spot marked: "Reserved for Police: Official Business Only".

"We are not here on "official" business, Ed." I laughed.

"Yes ma'am, we are." Ed said in his best Joe Friday imitation. "I don't know about you, but I intend to ask the victim of this accident a few questions. Maybe take an incident report. That makes it official, right?"

We stopped in the hospital gift store, so that Ed could get a "couple of things" for Suzanne. By the time he was done, his "couple" of things included a large bear, balloons, candy, and several of her favorite _Curious George_ dvd's.

"Gonna spoil that child" I told him with mock seriousness as we entered the elevator.

"I couldn't spoil you when you were in General. He smiled, "Besides, poor kid, her arm and her collarbone's broken. She deserves some spoiling."

"You mean I missed out on _Curious George _when I was in the hospital?"

"You did, but maybe I can buy you dinner tonight to make up for that?"

"Where?"

"Giamatti's?"

I groaned. "Not Giamatti's". For some reason, I didn't want half of SFPD checking out my dinner companion tonight.

"Ok" He said, understanding my reluctance, as the elevator opened onto a children's playground instead of a lobby. "Not Giamatti's."

The walls were brightly muraled, toys spilled out of boxes, a flat screen tv showed that day's Giants game, kids sprawled on the couches playing video games or checked their email. There were fish tanks with brightly colored residents, one contained a large iguana that one could see fascinated them. A cat delicately picked its way through the assembly of kids connected to infusion poles, in wheelchairs, on crutches, or their own two legs, along with a service dog milled about the nurses station. Nurses wore brightly colored tunics and chatted easily with the kids. They came out to make adjustments of pic lines, take vitals, administer medication, joke with or give a patient a friendly touch. They made no attempt to shoo them away, you could tell that each child was important and immediately I knew from the well organized chaos, Suzanne was in a good place.

"Quite a place." Ed commented. "I only saw the adult ward when the Chief was here and that was ages ago. I was pretty impressed with them and the work they did with him."

"I remember visiting him after the second surgery. The nuns all loved him."

"They still do."

"Thanks for coming to pick me up. It was good of you to do that."

"I saw the look when you came out. Were you real mad Eve wasn't there and I was?"

"Kinda. I didn't want you to know I was doing this. Not until later when I had an idea of how it was going"

He looked down at me. "I was serious the other night about being there for you. I know we were a little bit snockered but…."

I smiled at him. "Love your definition of "little bit". But it's me. I'm just now starting to realize that the physical work was probably easier than what I'm getting into now. "

We were standing just outside Suzanne's room. "I was very serious about that. I want to help, to be there for you." He bent down and held my cheek and chin between his fingers, lightly caressing my skin as he brushed my cheek with his lips, sending all sorts of tingles up and down me. "And about this too."

_Ohh boy._ I let Ed go into the room first while I tried to settle down my blood pressure and hormones. I took a deep breath before walking into the room. Ed was sitting by Suzanne's bed telling her the many uses for her cast when she finally got it. I couldn't hear all of them, but Suzanne was laughing. I could see by the look on her face on her face she'd already found the chocolate he brought her.

"Want some now Ed, puhleeze" she begged.

I heard him promise she would get some right after she got her cast on as a reward for being brave. It seemed to satisfy her.

Eve embraced me as I came in. She looked tired but otherwise appeared fine. "You didn't have to come."

"I had a police escort. I couldn't refuse."

The way Eve smiled, I recognized the look. She was tired, as if she'd been up all night. Though this had happened about two hours ago, worrying about your family did that to you, it aged you prematurely. Made you feel ulcerative. I'd gone through all of that. Suzanne was staying overnight just to make sure there were no complications from the concussion she suffered. She'd lost consciousness briefly after landing. I agreed with the doctors. Better to err on the side of caution. Eve needed to be certain her daughter wasn't going to have any problems.

"Mother and a friend were watching her play in the backyard with the friend's grandchild. They didn't realize the game the girls were playing was Double Dog Dare You. Before she knew it, Suzie had climbed up all the way to the first large branch. Mother asked her to come down, and she decided not to shinny down, but to jump."

I nodded. "I did that once at about age seven; broke my wrist. Suzie's tough. She'll be fine. How're you doing?"

"As best as I can. My child just jumped out of a tree from about ten feet and now she's in the hospital. I feel a little helpless."

Suzanne yelled "Fran!" I went over to see her.

"I flied Fran, all by myself. But I crashed."

"And now you know _chica, _you can't fly without wings."

"I get a cast!" Paint it."

"Say _please _Suzie". Her mother interjected.

"Puhleeze Fran?"

"I thought you might want me to, so Ed stopped to let me get your favorite colors."

Suzanne beamed at Ed. "I luff you." She said to him, her voice started sounding a little loopy. Closing her eyes, she began snoring softly.

"They gave her some pain medication a while ago", Eve said.

"What aren't you telling us Eve". Ed asked.

"They took a lot of x-rays. I don't think it's just a simple fracture. They may need to do more, I think. Maybe operate."

"When will you know for sure?"

She pointed to the white coated man with the surgical cap coming towards us. "Probably now."

The doctor introduced himself as Paul Jurek, a pediatric orthopedic surgeon. He was pleasant and efficient, explaining that the x-rays confirmed what he thought. "It was a supracondylar fracture of the left arm."

"In English please." Ed asked.

"Above the elbow." Pinning it would help aid the recovery and he had an operating room ready for her. He reassured Eve that Suzanne would make a full recovery and should be able to have complete use of the arm after the pins were removed.

Ed and I looked at each other.

"Ought to call Mark and the Chief. Let them know what's going on." I said.

While he went out in the hallway to call them, I sat with Eve. She took the sleeper couch and I took the one chair.

"Have you called Sam yet?"

"No. I will though. _Soon._" She said nervously. "Once the surgery's started and I know what's going on".

"It's going to be ok. She didn't land on her back and kids break arms and collarbones all the time."

"It's my first"

We went out into the hallway so a surgical team could come in to ease Suzanne out of bed and onto a gurney, connecting her to monitors and inserting a saline drip into her vein. As they passed us, they slowed to allow Eve time to give her a quick kiss on the forehead and stroke her hair. We followed the cart to the entrance of the surgical suite. Then we sat in the waiting room and waited. We were joined by Ed and eventually Mark and the Chief, and Eve's parents. Two hours went by that seemed like an eternity. We sat in groups. The Chief with Eve's parents, talking about the hospital and the high standard of care. Mark and Eve talked about their children.

"When my girls get big enough, I'm going to bubble wrap them until they're married." He said laughingly, referring to his nine month old twin daughters. "No trees for them."

Ed and I sat quietly. I noticed Ed kept looking at the door and checking his watch.

"Doctor Jurek will be here soon." I said.

Ed shook his head. Then he grinned.

I turned to see what he was looking at. I could see a man sprinting down the hallway. He looked familiar.

"You didn't." I grinned back at him.

"All I did was phone. He did the rest."

He entered the room. "Eve" he said simply.

Eve looked up to see Sam Dwyer standing before her. She got up tearfully and he folded her into his arms, holding her tightly for a time. They went out into the hallway to talk.

"When did you do that?" I asked.

"Right after Eve called me."

I took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "Ed Brown, you are a class act."

A few moments later, Dr. Jurek joined them and I could see by his expression and Eve's look of relief that things had gone well. After he left, Sam and Eve came over for reintroductions. Sam said he took a week off work so he could help Eve after Suzanne got out of the hospital. We made arrangements to get together before he left. Eve promising to text me if anything changed.

I looked at Ed and he nodded his head. It was time to go.

Eve gave Ed a huge hug thanking him for calling Sam. She gave me a hug as well. "Enjoy dinner and we'll get together soon to talk ."

I smiled. "It's just dinner."

She arched her eyebrows and sent me on my way.


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10 Let's Give Them Something to Talk About**

We got out of St Mary's as quickly as we could, enjoying the sun and soft breeze on our faces as we walked towards Ed's car.

"Whew" Ed said letting out a long breath. "I still don't like hospitals. No matter how much they decorate or update or how pretty the nurses are. " He extracted a cigarette from his pack, lit it, and inhaled, taking the smoke deep into his lungs, a sure sign that Suzanne's accident had bothered him more than he let on. "You sit and wait and wait, hoping for the best and sometimes… you don't get what you want."

I knew what he was talking about. "But sometimes there are miracles. You were one."

His smile returned. "So were you. They called Father John from St Peter's in at least twice for you. Someone delivered."

"Father Jimenez? No one ever told me he was there."

"The Chief didn't want you to know you were given the Last Rites."

"Anything else you want to tell me about that hospital stay?" I asked.

"I made sure you only had old doctors. I didn't want you to wake up when I wasn't around and fall for some cute intern". He said.

"You know you can talk about what happened then."

"Don't want to; at least not tonight." He stubbed out his cigarette, coughing slightly. "I need to quit these things."

"Dad always said it was the hardest thing he ever did...Quitting. But mom saw him do it. It's worth it you know."

"You don't smoke?"

"I did when I was running around the neighborhood with Beto and Noni, my cousins, after my mother died. We were hell raisers and I was pretty wild. I quit after an Econ prof graphically told me what a drain it was on my finances. And later that year, I spent a week in the hospital with pneumonia. Haven't touched one since. It was hard at the Academy. Seems like all the rookies smoked. It was tempting to go back and light up again."

"Good for you. I should get the patch that just came out. It's supposed help stop you from smoking. So, are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"Good. I know where I want to take you."

"Not Giamatti's"

"Not Giamatti's", he said, starting the car.

About ten minutes later, we drove up in front of the _Balboa Café_ on Fillmore. The exterior looked like an old cinder block building that had been just freshly whitewashed. We walked in to an interior that looked casually dressy. The barman greeted Ed as he began to mix a drink.

"Evening Ed "

Ed nodded a greeting back

We were seated in a more secluded part of the restaurant, a booth with a small table covered with a crisp white tablecloth but immediately a server came over.

"Hi Ed, haven't seen you for a while. How have you been?"

"Hey Paulette, I've been good. Busy. This is Fran. "

Paulette smiled as she handed us menus. "Blake's got your Manhattan just about ready Ed. What would you like to start with Fran?"

I chose bourbon and soda and she went off to the bar, returning momentarily with our drinks and took our orders.

"So, this is Ed Brown in his native environment?"

"Yup, this is the neighborhood. I moved into the apartment when I came back from service. Haven't left since."

I nodded. "How far away is your place from here?"

"It's about three and a half blocks away on Green as the seagull flies around here. The old Greenwich Terrace. You've never been inside it all this time. Would you like to see it sometime? Maybe come back for a cup of coffee before tonight is over."

"Yes, I would."

We paused and drank. I'd just agreed to see Ed's apartment. I'd picked him up often for work over the years, but I'd never gone inside. Baby steps.

Ed smiled. It was a great smile, warm and friendly, open. His brown eyes always lit up when he did too. Too often I'd seen his eyes shine another way, his eyes hardened and he could stare down any criminal in the city and there was never a smile on his face when he confronted the bad guys. Nights like this when we were alone and able to talk about things other than cases, were a rarity. He was relaxed and looked as if he was going to enjoy every moment of this, me too, I decided.

I watched as he took another appreciative sip of his Manhattan. "How'd it go today?" He asked.

"It went better than I thought. I think I'm going to like working with her. I have an appointment for tomorrow afternoon."

"That's good. I hope it goes well."

I eased a bit. "I want to get over this. It's not been fun the past few months."

"Post-traumatic stress never is fun. It used to be called the "coward's disease". Did you know in World War I, men were executed for suffering from PTSD? Then in WWII, it got called "battle fatigue". "Combat Fatigue", that's what they called it when I came back from service. There wasn't a real treatment for it then. I had to deal with the nightmares, the sounds, the smells myself. Seeing my buddies die over and over again. It's hell to do it alone."

I nodded. I never knew Ed had suffered from PTSD. Dr. Parkman had said something about the possibility of my having it, just briefly before our time was done this afternoon. I'd have to do some research, find out more before talking with her tomorrow.

"Like I said before, if I can help you in any way"

"I think it would be good if we agree not to talk about police work, crime or psychological problems any more tonight? Just be friends, enjoying ourselves?"

He gave me that smile again. It made me feel a little melted inside. "You're right. If we wanted to talk cases and stuff I would have taken you to Giamatti's. But have I told you about my favorite jazz and blues club down the street? I'd like to take you there after dinner. That is, if you like jazz or the blues. I hope you do. I'm not sure who's performing tonight".

We spent the remainder of dinner talking about things we were passionate about, art, music, theater, sports and our favorite teams. The conversation continued over coffee and dessert. I learned that although he loved hamburgers and Mexican food, he was slow to appreciate the Chief's chili. But he did like to dance. We found we both liked sushi and baseball was better than football. Eve had dragged him to the ballet once and he really didn't like that, or opera, which she'd also taken him to. He'd been born in East Kentucky and loved the mountains. His "ma" as he called her, taught school in the small elementary Ed had gone to. Pop had been a miner who encouraged Ed to get an education so he wouldn't have to be in the coal mines all his life like his uncles and grandfather had. At 17, he'd lied about his age and went into the Marines. He had a natural affinity for police work along with the ability to shoot, and was assigned to the Military Police. His time hunting in the Appalachians earned him his marksman and sharpshooters awards before he got out of basic training. He served three tours with distinction but had seen enough of the horrors and effects of war. He turned down the proffered promotion from the Marines. After being released from the Marines, he moved to San Francisco, a place he fell in love with after spending leave time from his assignment at nearby Camp Bridgeport. He spent his time recovering from his injuries and used the GI Bill to pay for classes at City College.

He'd seen a posting for the SFPD, applied, raced through the academy catching the attention of Robert Ironside, the Chief of Detectives. Ironside was noted for the speed with which he ran through his Detective Sergeants. Some described it as eating them up. Brown had been duly warned. After patrolling for three year, getting credit for his time as an MP for the remaining two years of service time required and an Associates Degree in Criminal Justice from City completed, he took the Sergeants test, passing easily. Ironside told him he wanted him as his new Detective Sergeant. Ed knew this would be a challenge. He took the position anyway.

"I don't know how I did it in the beginning Fran. I HATED chili, thought Eve was a snob and Mark, a punk, hoodlum, wannabe gangster. Now, along with you, they're my best friends and I couldn't think of working with, anyone else in the department. That includes working with the woman I said should _never _call me if she needed help." And the Chief, the word _impossible,_ just begins to cover it. And that was before he was shot. You think he's got us burning candles at both ends now, you should have seen it when he was in the field with us. That man kept a pace that was frightening. We were exhausted just trying to keep up with him.

From across the table I smiled and took his hand. We sat quietly like that for a while. I knew things from talking to Mark, and the Chief, and now Eve, and I knew his biography pretty well, but I had never heard Ed talk so much about himself before. I appreciated the new trust he gave me that night.

After dinner, we walked down the street to a small bar called, appropriately enough, the Blues Room. The room was crowded but we found a couple of stools at the bar and listened to music for a time. I could tell Ed really enjoyed the singer, a woman from Detroit, named Anita Baker. She sang the standards: Gershwin, Ellington, and Basie, with true emotion and respect for the music. A small dance floor opened up and he took my hand and led me out on it. He said he liked to dance. I did too, but didn't know how much he liked it or how well he could dance and he did it well. He knew how to lead, something most of my dates didn't. He held me close as we danced, his fingers exploring the back of my blouse. I pressed in closer to him and I could hear him hum softly as Baker sang:

"_Somebody loves me, _

_I wonder who,_

_I wonder who, _

_maybe it's you?" _

"The next time we go out, you can take me to one of those dance clubs you like to go to." Ed whispered in my ear. "I heard you can dance a pretty mean_ bachata"._

I laughed. "Who told you that?"

"Your cousin Beto."

"My tercero primo Beto, who acts like he's my father sometimes? Not surprised at all by that."

"Tercero Primo wha'?"

"My third cousin Beto, who, because he's Amy Prentiss' right hand man, thinks he's the boss. All the time. He's a big mouth Ed. You know that."

"Yeah, but Beto, I mean **Sergeant** Rod Pena, Chief of Detective's Prentiss' assistant, he's a good cop and a friend, _Pacquita. _And I thought you liked him".

I shook my head, smiling. " Yes, I do like him. Sometimes. _Pacquita? _Now it seems you know everything about me."

"Nope, not everything. You're still a woman of mystery."

"Good, because I want you to be mystified from time to time."

Anita Baker began another song, George and Ira Gershwin's, _The Man I Love_.

"_Someday she'll come along, the girl I love_" Ed sang in a surprisingly pleasant light baritone, changing the words as we danced.

"_Her smile will be a song, the girl I love, _

_and when she comes my way, the girl I love._

_I'll do my best to make her stay. _

_I'll look at her and smile, she'll understand, _

_and in a little while, I'll take her hand. _

_And though it seems absurd, I know we both won't say a word."_

His eyes had a look I hadn't seen before. I thought I knew his expressions. This one was an invitation. I decided to accept.

"Yes. I'd love to see to see your place."

"I can show you another night."

"You invited me out for dinner and jazz. I remember the invitation was extended to come visit your place for coffee."

He nodded. "Me too".

"And you can give me a cup of coffee before I leave, as promised."

We walked the few blocks from the Blues Room to his place on Green St. Ed lived on the top floor of an old row house like I did, with narrow flights of steps.

"How'd you get the furniture inside?" I asked as we paused on a landing.

"The freight elevator is in back of the old garage, which is now the coin laundry and the storage area."

"Makes sense." My apartment was similar.

His apartment reflected his military days. It was a neat, comfortable and very functional studio apartment. Because he was on the third floor, the landlord had done what mine had done for me, built a small deck that Ed used to grill and sometimes entertain guests. Inside, he'd also converted a closet into an office.

"I should have called you over the weekend I did this. It needs painting and I had to do it without the pizza, had beer though."

"I would have brought you a Benno's thin crust. If you'd asked."

"Next project you can. Would you like that coffee now?"

"Yes." I sat on the couch and leaned back into it, watching as Ed used a Melitta single cup machine to brew the promised cup that would wake me up enough to get home tonight. He was trying to impress me if he was making coffee that way. So much had happened today, I was tired. I closed my eyes for a moment. I felt the couch cushion shift.

"Call me a taxi" I mumbled.

"I've called you many things, but never a taxi." Ed joked.

I blinked open my eyes. "You've got to work tomorrow." I mumbled.

"Nope. I've got the day off."

I was shocked awake. "You never take a work day off unless you're forced to."

"I have new priorities."

He slid closer to me and moved his arm around me. "You've always been the eternal optimist. Even when the cases we were working on were more sordid and dirtier than anything, you were always hoping for the best outcome. I have been trying to tell you for some time now, I want to be there for you. Stop pushing me away. We're not kids. Let's not act like it." He kissed me. "Puhleese", he said giving me his best Suzanne imitation. "I need you Fran. I want you in my life."

I turned my face towards him. He stroked my hair, and then grasped it as he kissed me hard. I met the kiss with equal force, skimming my fingers over his face, brailing features I'd known from the first day we'd met almost five years ago. I felt him pull my blouse out from my skirt, slipping his hands under it, exploring, my bra somehow magically loosened. I felt the zipper of my skirt slide down. My head arched back and he kissed my neck repeatedly, lingering as he heard me gasp with pleasure. My fingers found the buttons of his shirt.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11 What Do You Do When You Fall In Love?**

It was the deepest, most satisfying, refreshing sleep I'd had in months. The dreams had all been good. No demons had interrupted me. I woke up to bright sunlight streaming through the window. The mattress moved and I realized Ed had gotten up; closing my eyes and feigning sleep, I rolled over on my side away from him, while he got a bathrobe. He shut the door and went out into the other room. Eventually I heard a door closing, and then the shower running, followed by hearing the sound of the bathroom door opening and Ed's humming. I found my clothes, dressed, and ran a brush through my hair.

Ed was sitting out on the back porch with a cup of coffee and the_ Chronicle_. "Damn Righetti". He said as a way of greeting. "He blew another one in the ninth last night. We're not going to the Series if he can't start closing games. Why can't the Giants trade him for someone decent?"

I bent down and over, mussed his hair and kissed his forehead. "Morning". Sitting in the chair across from him, I took the arts section.

"Did you get coffee?" He asked

"No"

"I need some more." He got up, taking his mug in and returned with a large mug for me. He placed it on the table in front of me, kissing me on the cheek as he did so. I sipped it. It was good, really good. I smiled in approval.

"So you learned to make coffee while I've been away."

"Well, I did get a Melitta, I think you saw that last night, but I made your "Uncle" Phil, teach me to make a really good cup of coffee. I told him you'd give him a ticket when you came back if he didn't do it. Because you know, the Chief won't make coffee, everybody complained about mine and well Mark … well, you know."

I grimaced. Mark could not make coffee, not even a cup of instant. We joked that his cooking skills were so limited he'd burn water. To his credit, he knew great places to get cheap food on stakeouts and most importantly he had all the numbers of the Chief's favorite take out places.

"You sleep ok?" He asked.

"Uh huh. Don't think I've slept that well in a long time."

He looked pleased. "I'm glad."

"You?"

"Very well".

We sat quietly for a time with the paper and coffee. It felt right.

After a time Ed got up. "I have towels and stuff, if you want to take a shower, and would you like some breakfast?"

"A shower sounds like a good idea. You paid for dinner, I'll treat for breakfast."

"I know a little place close by, called the Galley. We can get in and out quickly and it has really good food. Best of all, it's affordable." He said. "And…I'm good friends with the chef."

The hot water felt good and minutes later I was clean and back in the kitchen laughing at Ed. "Good friends with the chef".

"I make a mean omelet". He had a couple skillets and bowls on the counter and was taking eggs, bacon, cheese and veggies out of his refrigerator.

"I'll just bet you do."

"C'mon, give me a hand".

He put me to work chopping vegetables and shredding cheese. I enjoyed the time we were spending together doing something as simple as making breakfast and I could tell he was too. While he beat eggs, added seasonings and started cooking them in the pan, I fried bacon, kept coffee mugs filled and made toast.

We ate standing at the counter.

"Omelets" Ed began, pausing to fork a bite into his mouth, "are only good when they're hot. Best place to eat them is at the counter right out of the pan."

I nodded my agreement. We finished eating and I ran a sink full of soapy water and washed up, while Ed dried and put the dishes away.

"Did you think this would ever happen?" He asked as he found another opportunity to kiss me.

"My washing your dishes at your place?" I laughed, blowing some bubbles in his direction.

"No, this."

"No."

"It feels good". He said.

"It does." I replied.

"What do you want to do before your appointment today?" He asked.

"We could explore your neighborhood." I suggested.

Smiling, he eyed the bedroom door. "Or we could…"

"We could, but I've just eaten more for breakfast than I have in quite a while and I'd be sleepy."

"At 9 am?"

"Yes, at 9 am."

Ed took a deep breath then released it "Hmmmm. A walk would be good then."

"Unless you run."

"Lady, I am a US Marine and Detective Sergeant in the SFPD. Of course I run. How far can you run?"

"Before this? A good run for me would be seven, maybe ten miles. You?"

"About the same. Are you up for a run today? I know exactly where I want to take you.

"Haven't run since well, you know and I don't have any gear."

"S'ok, we'll take it slow and easy. We'll shoot for five miles. If you need to, you can walk and we'll just need to make a stop and get you some stuff."

I felt like I couldn't refuse him. I hadn't been running, too many other things to deal with, like recovery. But here he was offering a friendly run. I'd told Dr. Parkman I wasn't going to refuse the help of friends any more.

"Let's go". I told him "Take me to your secret spot."

We walked back over to the Balboa Cafe to get Ed's car, then on the way, we made a stop at a nearby sporting goods shop where I picked up the basics, shorts, a tee, socks, and shoes and a water bottle. They were nice enough to let me change in the store after I told the salesman I was heading out for a run. San Francisco is like that sometimes. A short time later, Ed parked his car at Dynamo Donuts. Next to it was the Golden Gate Promenade, a favorite place to bike, walk and run for visitors and San Franciscans alike. The trail lay along the Bay and held spectacular views.

"I thought we'd run to Fort Point and back. It's about 5 miles altogether. Break your shoes in easy." He grinned.

Not just my shoes, I thought, as I stretched my protesting hamstrings, quads and shins before starting.

Fort Point was an old fort dating back to the Civil War, when the new state of California was concerned that Confederate raiders might just try to attack the city. It was at the base of the Golden Gate Bridge and the trail was surprisingly not crowded this morning. Ed kept a slow but consistent pace for me and at first, my muscles screamed in protest for my making them do this and I reminded myself that I had made plans to run the SFPD Half Marathon in November. Training had to start sometime. Finally I could see Torpedo Wharf on my right. We were almost there.

"C'mon, run out there with me!" Ed shouted.

I followed him out there and we took a break sitting on a bench while watching sail boats fly along the shore.

"You doing ok?" He asked.

"Yeah, better than I thought. I'll pay for it tonight though." I said, after taking a long drink from the water bottle I had.

"Hmm, I see someone who needs a massage tonight and I know the perfect masseuse."

"Do they make house calls?"

"I believe this one does."

"You'll have to give me their number."

"Unlisted but I can make arrangements for him."

"Him".

"Works cheaply. Dinner and uhh a bottle of wine."

"Ok. Deal"

He looked at his watch. "C'mon we've got another half mile to the fort and then it's back to the car. You can't be late for your appointment."

We got up, stretched and began running again. By the time we got there, the Golden Gate Bridge looked spectacular in the sun as it soared over Fort Point. We spent a short time there admiring it then turned around to get back to the car. The way back was quicker and warmer and I was beginning to feel more stretched out. I was running more easily. We were both sweaty from the run by the time we got back to Ed's Charger.

Jealously I watched as Ed took off his shirt and turned into the wind to dry off. I could see the scarring from his back surgery. Two and a half years ago, he'd been shot by a hit man in Los Angeles, after Polly MacIver, the wife of the Defense Attorney in a trial Ed was the star witness in, became afraid that her, as well as her husband's, role in laundering drug money would be disclosed. She thought Ed had discovered that bit of information in his investigation of crime boss Frank Harmon, her husband's client. Ed had, but didn't know it until about a half hour before his surgery.

I hadn't seen the shooting, but I'd been the first to see the aftermath. It was one of those times it was hard to keep my composure and act like a cop. He and Mark had been sitting on the railing of our hotel balcony. I was sitting at the patio table next to Ironside. We were celebrating the end of Ed's testimony and the conclusion of a hard case, or so we thought. As was his wont, the Chief was expressing his doubts about the case when he asked me for a splash more club soda in his bourbon. I went inside to get the bottle, the last thing I remember before the nightmare began, was Mark jovially saying, "As long as it's Mexican", in response to the Chief telling him anywhere was good for dinner as long as it was Mexican. In the time it took me to find the soda and a bottle opener, Ricky Wells had sighted his M21 sniper rifle from the office building across from our hotel and shot three times, hitting Ed with the last bullet. After the shooting, I picked myself off the floor of the hotel room, brushing glass shards from the dress I'd worn to court that day. First thing was to check on the Chief. He was fine. Stupidly I blurted. "What happened?"

I knew what had happened. We'd been shot at by a high powered rifle. Mark was fine, the Chief was fine, but Ed.

"Where's Ed? Where is he?" I demanded.

Mark and I rushed to the rail where he last was. I looked down. Ed lay on the ground like a doll that had been flung angrily by its owner. He looked broken and worse, lifeless.

"Oh my God," I half sobbed.

Mark gave me a quick comforting squeeze and we bolted from the room. Where Ed was lying, was not just hotel grass anymore, but a crime scene and please, God, not a murder scene. The image of Ed on the ground had been seared in my brain forever. I'd been helpless to do anything for him, except donate a pint of blood. The Craig Institute had saved his life with a very sophisticated and experimental, surgical technique, invented by Dr. William Ritter. Of course, like love, this surgery did not run smoothly. Dr. Ritter' daughter had been kidnapped and Ricky Wells, the man who'd shot Ed, threatened to kill her if the surgery wasn't stopped. Fortunately we found a way to save the girl and keep Ed's surgery on track. After the surgery, I'd spent every weekend I could in LA, while Ed was recovering, taking him off hospital grounds for ball games and better food. The surgery had been so successful that Ed moved now as if he'd never fallen from a one story balcony.

He'd seen my own physical scars last night too. He saw where they'd taken my spleen out. We'd joked that if we ever caught a nasty cold, we'd go into isolation together because of our now slightly compromised immune systems. Somewhat reluctantly I'd shown him the vertical scar that ran from the top of my skull to just above my left ear. Ed had touched it, kissed it gently and told me how grateful he was to the doctors at San Francisco General who had saved me. Strange how we owed our lives to doctors.

Ed put his shirt back on and turned to face me. "How do you feel?"

"Other than the fact you could dry the sweat off after your run and I couldn't?" I laughed.

He opened the car and took a towel out. "Sorry."

I took the proffered towel, splashed some water from my bottle over my neck and face, and dried off. We got back in the car and Ed drove me back to my place. It was almost noon when he got there. I invited him in for lunch.

I took a shower that Ed volunteered to "help" me through. I declined his offer, took the shower then changed into work clothes. Two professionals were going to talk to one another, though the one professional was a little more confused than the other. When I came out of the bedroom, Ed took my invitation for a shower and while he was washing up, I made lunch and took it out to the deck. After lunch, Ed offered to take me to my appointment. I declined. A lot had happened and I needed a little time to myself. Ed understood and we agreed to meet for dinner about seven, this time at one of my favorite places. I walked him to the door and he left only after successfully firing up my hormones. A last lingering kiss and he closed the door behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12 Goldbach's Conjecture**

It was the same procedure as before. Walk in. Sit down. Wait. Bare your soul. I wonder how Janet Parkman would feel knowing that after yesterday, I'd ended up in bed with Ed. If yesterday was a clue, she would be nonjudgmental, but then the questions would start. I had decided that she was the kind of woman to whom the pauses between the words were as important as the content of the words said. I wondered if I would end up sobbing my way through a box of tissue like yesterday.

Almost immediately on coming in to her office I told her. I spared no detail. I wanted her to know everything. How he'd picked me up from the appointment, Suzanne's surgery, his wanting to give up cigarettes because of me. Our going to dinner at one of his favorite places, followed by the Blues Room, how the songs of George Gershwin had changed my life. To his apartment and …

She had been very nonjudgmental. She listened, steepling her fingers on her desk, carefully weighing each word I said. "And are you feeling any morning after remorse?" She asked.

"No. Am I wondering what will happen next? Yes. If I go back to work, will I always worry that he might be in trouble? Probably. Will he worry about me? I hope so. Will it keep us from working together? I hope not. He's the best cop I've ever worked with. I don't want to get a new partner. But I think I've fallen in love with him and Ed with me."

"And does that make you feel you don't have to deal with anything else, now that you have this person in your life? He sounds like a very strong man, based on your description."

"Ed is one of the strongest people I've ever met. If anything, I need to deal with this all the more because I don't want to be dependent on him. If this relationship is going to work, I have to be independent." I replied.

She nodded, giving me the look of a teacher whose prize student had just solved Goldbach's Conjecture, one of those unsolved math proofs that filled up blackboards and drove mathematicians to drink. Ed and I would be ok, whatever happened.

She smiled "Then let's talk instead about the night Gary Glenville followed you out to your car."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 Frannie's Got a Gun**

Eve had warned me that working with Janet Parkman would not be easy. After my second session with the good doctor, I was convinced Eve had been right when she'd told me that. Dr. Parkman listened to what I had to say about last night. She asked if I felt any morning after remorse. I said I had none and if I wanted the relationship to work, I would have to deal with "this". I needed to get better. She switched gears following that happy declaration, suggesting we discuss the night Gary Glenville followed me to my car. I agreed, but by the time I was finished for the session. I was exhausted, depressed, furious, and feeling totally incapable of doing anything. She asked me to stop by the next day to talk once I'd had the opportunity to reflect on this emotional soup. Was this progress or was I really a worse mess than I'd thought?

She began by going over with me in excruciating detail that night everything changed. "When you first woke up after the assault, how did you feel?"

I was devastated, I told her. "Wouldn't you have been? You couldn't remember first what had happened to you or why you'd been put in the hospital? Then you find out what happened and you get constantly badgered for information and your stock answer was, "I can't remember!" because you really couldn't remember anything. That you wanted to forget the little you knew and bury it deeper than a dog could bury a bone in your backyard? And no one is letting you forget, because your body is the crime scene and your brain is the star witness. You're repeatedly told how lucky you are that what happened to Grace Kim and Carole Mapes didn't happen to you. But you know it should have. You should be dead."

"Then came the emergency surgery for the aneurysm and after you came out of surgery, finding out you had couldn't speak or move the way you had, how did you feel about that?"

My God, she was a clinical tactician. I gave her both barrels.

"Let me put it this way. He comes back and tries to kill you in the hospital. In your own bed, with your pillow and you can't do one damn thing about it because you're so weak. That's scary in itself and makes you wonder why you're still alive and what you really knew about that night. What can't you remember? The Chief keeps asking you the same questions. It's easier now for him, in part, because he's set up a command station in your hospital room with outside guards when he's not there, to protect you from any other attacks that might happen. But he won't tell you that. He won't tell you how he feels about failing to protect you. That's not Robert Ironside's style. He won't tell you that Gary Glenville killed again after failing to kill you twice. That he killed Vivian Dorsey in the exact same way Grace Kim and Carole Mapes were, the way you should have been killed too. No, you hear that from uniforms outside your door. You remember how we all like to yack on protection duty. It's boring. Gossip is the only thing that passes the time. So, it all gets too much for you and in the middle of round 896 of questioning, your brain decides to check out, permanently. The doctors won't let you do that, so instead, you find out that your brain had been cut into to save your life and your body now refuses to do what you want it to? That you are now reliant upon complete strangers for the most basic bodily functions? Now, you can't remember if you had lunch? Or who these people are that tell you we work together or what work you did? That temporary expressive aphasia makes you crazy? You couldn't say what you want to, so these strangers treat you like a baby? How would you feel about that? What would you have done?" The angry bone I'd thought I'd buried was working its way to the surface.

Dr. Parkman pressed on. "Why did you decide to engage in risky behavior knowing you could be arrested if a cop saw you being publicly drunk or under the influence?"

My answers became more angry and sarcastic. I could feel the anger grab my heart, squeeze it tight, then push upwards trying to choke me. I didn't give the proverbial rat's ass if my answers or the anger behind them helped or hindered me. My stream of consciousness was no longer a quiet brook. It had become a raging river, and totally out of my control. The angry bone spurted out of my unconscious mind like Janet Parkman had just performed the Heimlich maneuver on me.

She took what I gave her, and then waited for my angry storm to pass.

Mercifully, she stopped asking questions and instead given me three tests, evaluation tools, she'd called them. One was ten simple questions, yes or no. No room to explain or rationalize, just respond.

_Upsetting thoughts_? Oh God yes.

_Memories about the event that came into my mind unbidden_? All the time.

_Bad dreams_? Uh huh.

_How about racing heart, dizziness, stomach churning_? Two out of three there.

_Guilty feelings about what happened?_ I was a trained police officer. This never should have happened.

_Avoidance of people and places associated with the event?_ Definitely. I'd not gone near either City College or 750 Kearney since the assault.

_Emotional numbness? Loss of interest in people or activities?_ Until last night they both had been resounding affirmatives.

_Lack of sleep or more sleep than I was accustomed to?_ Both ways.

_Unexplained anger or sadness? _Right now would be a very good example.

_Feeling that you were living on edge_? Every day.

I marked the sheet quickly and gave it back to her. She handed me the next sheet, an anxiety scale. It was short. I responded to each item based on the amount of discomfort I felt. Fear of losing control, check. Feeling terrified; unable to relax; fear of the worst happening. Feeling of choking; was that figurative or literal choking? Was I scared, nervous? Yes. I didn't trust my own shadow. Fear of dying? The hospital had told Ed and Mark that I coded three times the first night. I shouldn't be afraid of not coming back. I could do it. But I was terrified of it and at the same time, had tried to welcome it. Coping mechanisms? Until recently, it would have been a fistful of prescribed medications accompanied by a nice cabernet sauvignon or bourbon, thank you. That was followed by one more scale for depression, with similar questions and length. I had a feeling what the results might be. I was sure I had aced all three tests. I could hear the slot machine bells go off in my brain, announcing I'd hit the psychic jackpot.

Dr. Parkman totaled the scores separately. "Would you like a cup of tea?" she asked.

I'd never had a therapist offer me anything to drink before. I felt my stomach flip. It didn't sound good what she was going to tell me. I accepted her offer and she plugged in a small electric pot she kept on a nearby counter. We were quiet as the water heated.

"Thank you first for your honesty in responding to my first questions. She took tea and mugs out of a cabinet, measured the tea and dumped it in a teapot and poured boiling water in it letting it steep for a while.

"You'd be surprised how people try to convince me they're fine, so why are they wasting their money and my time? You probably know this already, but your test results confirm it. You do have PTSD, post- traumatic stress disorder, I wanted to see you less in control of yourself, hence the early questions" she began after pouring us cups. She came around to sit in the chair opposite the one I was in, handing me my tea.

"Let me explain what PTSD means based on the information you've given me. Normally, you have dealt with stress and what's called _fight or flight_ fairly successfully. That's the body's and the brain's natural ability to decide what to do in stressful situations. Even the night you were attacked, from what you've told me, you were making good decisions before the attack. Your car was in a lighted section of the parking lot. You had your weapon available and your cell was charged and in your outside pocket. You were paying attention to your surroundings. When he attacked you, you did all that your training allowed for. Your training didn't cover being slammed into your car, or being beaten into unconsciousness. There's no way it could. You were dealing with a psychopath. He was going to find you and kill you one way or another." She drank some tea. "I know what you're thinking. What the hell does this woman know about it other than reading textbooks or running tests or listening to her patients cry or scream the anger out."

I flushed; embarrassed she had caught me thinking that way.

"Fran, I was a cop once too. I was in similar situations. I had friends in even scarier situations. I saw what happened to some of them. Some of them didn't get out alive. Instead, they fell into a bottle of booze or a pill bottle or a grave. That's a reason I went into this business." She paused to drink some tea. "To help the people I worked with. You did get out alive. You did get Gary Glenville. He can't hurt anyone any more.

"Until I get the phone call telling me they let the bastard out of Napa" I said bitterly. I paused. I'd said it, my worst nightmare out in the open. I remember how I felt inside when Eve had said that at _Colibri_.

In your case, the PTSD along with the added anxiety, depression, the recovery from your injuries, your having to go to a rehab center and not being able to go home and recuperate, the guilt because you lived has you thinking you're that character from _Peanuts, _the one with the dark cloud over his head all the time. If something bad is going to happen, you're first in line. You're in panic mode all the time. Your flight or fight switch is stuck. Life, for wont of another word, _sucks, _all the time, no escape_. _ And then there's the most important thing, your guilt over the fact you're alive and those three women aren't. Let me make this very clear. You have to start accepting that it wasn't your day to die. Not that night in the parking lot, not the day he put the pillow over your face, and not the day the aneurysm blew. It wasn't your day. You've been stripped down to being completely vulnerable and have been that way for a while now. It's a matter of how you want to live. If you choose to live as a victim, I can't help you, but if you're going to live as you say you want to, I can help you."

I nodded red eyed and teary. "I told you this yesterday. I don't want to feel this anymore."

"You're always going to have this as part of you, but let's work on making it not as upfront." She said.

I heard the chime. Our time was done. We'd talk tomorrow. I should rest, do something pleasant. Something good to, and for, myself, was her advice to me as I left.

I walked outside into the sunshine. I'd made progress, hadn't I? Why did I feel like there was a hive of bees swarming about me? There across the street next to his car, just like yesterday, was Ed. I wasn't expecting him to do that. I was going to walk home, and after the session I'd had with Janet Parkman, I wasn't a very civil person. I needed that walk. In fact, I wouldn't even have picked me up from this appointment based on how I was acting. I could very well have been politely described as bitchy

"I still have most of today off. I thought maybe we could do something together?

Damnit. We'd agreed on seven. That would have given me time to settle down. Instead, there he was, waiting. "Thought I wasn't going to see you until tonight?" I snapped.

"Thought you could use a ride to your place."

"Thanks" I said glumly. I got in the passenger seat.

"So if you don't want to go home, where do you want to go?"

"I don't care. My place I guess."

Ed blew out air from between pursed lips. "You are not a happy camper."

"What the hell gave it away?"

"Rough session?"

"Yeah."

He didn't ask for any other details. "Ok," he said. "My day off has been fun, but let's go blow off some steam. You are in danger of a serious eruption. Tell me where you want to go. It's your choice. Bumper cars, amusement park, roller coasters, golf range, batting cages, tennis courts, shooting range, boxing ring, just tell me. "

I was thinking about the imagery that had come up when while talking with Dr. Parkman. She had said I wasn't responsible for what had happened that night, but that I needed to stop acting like a victim. But I realized it was comfortable. I didn't have to do anything. In a month, I could go before the BooSoo therapist and get my papers stamped and I'd be done. Then Eve's reminding me that one day, I'd get the phone call from Napa with the sympathetic person from Victim's Rights telling me that Gary Robert Glenville was no longer considered a danger to himself or others and the State of California would be releasing him into the general population. Then where would I be? I remembered too that I had committed to a life plan and that part of the plan now included the man sitting next to me. He'd suggested blowing off some steam. I knew what I wanted to do.

"First stop the department range. Then we can do something more pleasant like smash bumper cars."

"Do you need your" Ed began, pausing when I opened my bag, revealing the gleaming gunmetal of the department issued Sig Sauer.

"Ok, let's go shoot some targets." He turned the key in the ignition, the car roared to life and we took off down the street.

Ed pulled into the parking lot of the range, slipped the Charger into park and took his Sig out of the gun safe he had installed in his car, locking the box after him.

"So you've had your gun with you every time we've been somewhere's?"

"Departmental policy, remember" I said snappishly.

"Or fear of being attacked and unprepared."

I glared at him. The look he gave me back indicated he knew the correct answer. We were both right. I knew the department rule but he knew the deeper reason, I was scared. Little lady with a big gun. Should fix everything, right? Make it all better? Guns were supposed to be phallic though. That's what Freud thought. Well, no one's going to mess with me when I have my Sig Sauer with me. But in fact, someone had messed with me and the Sig had been no help at all.

We walked into the cool dark building and signed into the range, saying hello to Frank Merchant, the firing officer. We slipped on yellow shooting glasses and donned ear protection. Each of us took a booth and loaded our guns with blanks, waiting for our three targets each to drop down. One magazine and done. After we were done, the firing officer sent them our way. Ed's shots were precise, center of the mass. Textbook example of how to do it. Mine weren't bad, but I needed to do some refinement before I took Ed on in a shooting competition.

"Not bad" he said as way of compliment.

We repeated the exercise several times before Ed indicated he'd had all the practice time he wanted.

"I need to do this again."

He handed me the blanks. "Load up. I'll watch you see what's going on with your technique."

I loaded. The firing officer dropped the target. I waited. Suddenly the target took on a form and personality. I remembered how I would have handled that night if given a chance. I shot faster than I'd done before emptying the magazine. Finished, I dropped the gun on the counter and shuddered. Ed knew what was going on and wrapped his arms around me. We dropped to our knees in the booth as I broke into sobs.

"It's ok Fran." He whispered into my hair. "We've all done it. You did what you wanted to do, needed to do. Killed the bastard who tried to kill you."

He held me there for an eternity. Then we broke apart. "I want to see the target."

"No. You'll know what it'll show."

"Show me the bloody target." I cried, getting up. "Show it to me right now!"

"Frank" Ed shouted. "Send it over". The target moved slowly towards us. It showed exactly what I'd done to Gary Glenville.

"Fran, look. You didn't kill him." His voice was quiet with amazement.

I looked with satisfaction, there were ten holes neatly placed exactly where I wanted; five in each shoulder. "I decided after last night and today that if I killed him that would make me no better than him, Ed. He's a sick man who is never going to see light of day outside of the state hospital, not if I can help it. I'll be there every year for Grace, Carole, Vivian and myself."

He put his arm around me as we walked out of the booth and back to his car. "Like I said, I just think I know you and then you do something absolutely amazing."

I reached up and kissed him. "It's all because I have people like you around, holding me to higher standards."

We got in the car. "I want to tell you about today. An awful lot happened."

"So" he said sliding the car in reverse. "Start at the beginning."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14 Time Flies **

It was mid-September, all the kids were back in school, and the Giants were definitely out of World Series contention. Ed and I debated going across the bay to see the Oakland A's take on the Cincinnati Reds, when the series started, but we'd decided it just wouldn't be the same. The Niners, with Joe Montana at quarterback and Jerry Rice leading the rushing game, showed promise. We bought tickets and went to the first two games, becoming fans. All part of the new routine, what I'd previously called Plan B. My focus was on getting healthy, regardless of whether I was going back to work or not. To do that, I continued going to Benton Liang's morning Tai Chi group, kept running, joined a gym to start getting more of my strength back, painted, and saw Janet Parkman twice a week. I spent time with Ed whenever his schedule allowed us to. By the end of each day, I was tired.

I was at Ed's when the phone rang. I'd agreed to paint his closet office. He wanted Marine blue, like his old dress uniform. Dark. Marine. Blue, he said. It was a clean color, he argued with me, finally compromising that it be, a light" Marine blue, after I repeatedly pointed out that if he wanted to be able to see things without the light constantly on, it couldn't be dress blue. The day I was going to paint, Ed was working, and I had nothing scheduled until the late afternoon when I saw Dr. Parkman. I let the call go to message.

It was Eve.

"Hey Fran, since I can't find you at home and you're not answering your cell, I'm trying here. Give me a call, ok? I'm back in town with Suzanne. She's got a follow up for a new cast. Can we get together anytime soon? I'll be through next Tuesday. Sam's coming for the wedding next Saturday. Mother and Daddy want you over for dinner soon. I want to talk to you. Catch up on what's going on. Call me, will you?"

I called her back immediately, inviting her over and telling her to bring paint clothes. She couldn't come to paint, because she'd taken Suzanne to Dr. Jurek's that morning. But she'd stop by for a quick visit in a couple of hours, once she got Suzanne settled from having had the arm examined and a new cast put on. Her arm was healing nicely and Eve was optimistic that there would be a full recovery.

"You know you're going to have to paint it again." She laughed. "Dr. Jurek's technician sliced George right in half. Stem to stern. She's devastated.

I grinned, thinking about poor Curious George being slit in half and the poor technician having to deal with the wrath of Suzanne Dwyer.

"Put her on, will you".

"Teeya" she wailed, "Teeya Fran. They gave me a new cast. It's naaykid." She said drawing out the word. "They threw George away. I love George. I want George back!"

I assured her I'd be over that evening to put a new Curious George on her cast. That seemed to calm her.

"Well, whatever her "_Tia_" Fran promised, seemed to work, so thank you." Eve said when she was back on the phone.

"She promised her favorite _sobrina,_ that she'd get a new George tonight. Is it alright if I stop by after dinner to see my "niece" and your parents? Don't know what Ed's up to tonight. He said he'd be working late, as usual."

"Of course "Auntie". I'll see you soon."

I hung up and went to the kitchen to see if Ed had any lunch makings in the fridge. Of course he didn't. The man lived on fast food and ate most of his dinners out or at the Chief's, as did Mark and I. His cholesterol must be terrible. Mark's and mine for that matter too because of those dining habits. I'd have to make a run to the nearby market and get some things. Ed and I might be living on love, but we needed to lunch on more than Anchor Stream and Sierra Nevada. I checked myself in the mirror before I went out. I opened the door.

There he was. "Hello Fran." He said, looking up from his wheelchair.

"Chief, I was just going out to the market, but come in, please." I let out a deep breath.

He pushed his chair inside the apartment.

"Is Mark with you?"

"No, I wanted an opportunity to talk with you alone."

"Would you like some coffee?"

"Yes. That would be good."

I walked into the galley, pulled down the coffee and filters, poured water in the pot, dumped it in the reservoir, filled the dispenser with coffee, turned it on to drip and took two mugs off the rack.

"You seem to be getting used to Ed's place." He said.

"Yes, I am". I smiled and nodded. "How's Katherine? All set for the wedding?" Filling the mugs with the hot brew, I brought them out and handed one to the Chief.

"She's fine and all set for next week." He replied

"I sat down on the couch next to him. We sipped coffee quietly for a time. "How have you been Chief? You look good." I finally said.

"I'm fine; you look good. It's been very busy at the office, Katherine and I have planned the wedding. I know you got the invitation because you RSVP'd with a guest. I'm assuming you're going with Ed, only because he told me he was taking you. I wonder if I'll ever see you at the ranch other than when I get married. Then there's the office. I could definitely use your help there. My sergeant has a loopy grin on his face and has asked for leave time for a vacation in December. Something about the mountains in Kentucky or Hawaii. Do you know anything about that? I don't suppose you'll be wanting some time off then? Have we exhausted the social chit chat?"

"Yes sir."

"Good." He replied. "Fran" he said, breaking my name into the two syllables as he often did, especially when he was thinking about what to say next. "We haven't talked for a while."

"Not since you gave me my sergeant's stripes and announced your engagement. That was quite a night", I said.

"I want to know why you pushed us away. In particular, why me."

I got up "More coffee?"

"I'm fine and you're dancing away from this too."

I went to the coffee pot and topped off my mug. Returning to my place on the couch, I sipped and realized that Eve knew, Janet Parkman knew and Ed knew, especially during those nights Gary Glenville showed up to haunt my sleep. Thank God, those nights were becoming fewer and fewer. But I'd deliberately left the Chief out. I'd been that embarrassed by my feeling I'd let him down and at the same time, never letting him deal with his feelings about what happened to me. Whether he felt guilty about my aneurysm.

"Only dancing I'm going to do is at your wedding." I began. "Let me tell you a story Chief," I paused to breathe. "A story about a woman, who had her life in front of her, took one hell of a detour and almost lost her way." I lost track of the time as I told him everything.

"But at what cost Fran?"

I looked at him. He'd asked the question he'd wanted to ask me for so long. I let out a breath I didn't think I'd been holding. I got up and went over to him, crouching down on my haunches so he could see my face. He held my hands the way he had so often done when he wanted to create that bond with me.

"When I woke up in the hospital the first time, I remember the look on your face. You looked terrible, as if you had been the one who found me lying broken on the parking lot pavement. When you were pushing me to remember what I needed to tell you about the case, each time you looked more upset, almost as if you were afraid of what would happen if you pushed too hard. And then, that day in my room after Gary Glenville tried to kill me. You looked as if you'd completely failed me. Two hours later, my life changed forever. You didn't cause it"

The Chief was uncharacteristically quiet. I got up and went over for more coffee for us. I drank it slowly.

"Chief, I begged you to take this case on. I pleaded with you to let me investigate it. Two women had been raped and murdered. You didn't cause the assault, or the aneurysm and you certainly didn't cause it to burst. I know that now. It didn't kill me but you're right, I'm not the same woman I was before I went to get my car that night at City College. I have post-traumatic stress disorder. When I got out of rehab, I couldn't deal with what had happened. So I tried to make myself so numb; I wouldn't give a damn if anything happened. Most importantly, I felt so damaged that I was afraid to let you, Mark and Ed see me. That's why I kept you away from me during rehab. I was ashamed of what I thought you'd think. It's crazy, but that's what I believed. The PTSD, it's going to be part of me forever. And I have to make sure that if I'm going to come back, it won't keep me from doing my job. I need to be able to feel that I have your backs."

He nodded. "Your exact words to me young lady, were. "Chief, I'm there already. Let me ask a few questions for you. Three days later, Ed is taking me to the blasted hospital at midnight because you'd been beaten, and the four of us are donating blood because that's the only damn thing we can do for you."

"But you helped me remember the missing link. The case wouldn't have been solved if I hadn't remembered".

"Fran, I met with Gary Glenville at Napa the other day. He called me. Wanted to meet. Talk about what happened. One thing I'm convinced of is that Vivian Dorsey didn't die because of what you did or didn't do. He had a list starting with the two girls he murdered.

"Their names were Grace Kim and Carole Mapes, not the two girls."

"After the first girl, err, I mean, Miss Kim, died, that's when Vivian Dorsey first became suspicious. She noted the same behavior from Glenville following the death of Miss Mapes. She noted a lack of feeling when you were beaten. She became worried because he became highly agitated, and very volatile. She felt she couldn't control him anymore."

"Why did you go see him?" I asked, even though he'd already given a reason.

"Because he asked me to."

That would be the Chief, always trying to find out every scrap of information to understand the mind of a killer.

"What else did he say?"

"That your name was on his list. He felt you were too close to finding him out, and you were." He paused. "He wants to see you."

"He told you that?"

"There's something he wants to say to you."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I couldn't order you to do it. That it would be your decision and only yours."

I felt a long exhale. I hadn't realized I'd been holding the breath that long.

"If I were to go, would you come with me?"

"Yes. Yes, I would."

I got a call from Boo Soo the other day." I said changing the subject. "The last report from Dr. Parkman was encouraging, but they're not letting me go back, if I do decide that, until October fifteenth. They want to make sure I've been seizure free for four months without medication. I have been. The last time I saw Dr. Thompson, well, he doesn't want to see me anymore. He's very happy with his work, and is ok that I'm not taking any meds. I'm not happy it's been delayed, but they're paying me to stay home."

"What are you doing with your time?"

I caught the Chief up on what I was doing. He seemed pleased.

"What about you and Ed?" He asked.

I flushed.

"Are you and my sergeant canoodling?"

"Canoodling?" I laughed.

"You know what I mean Fran."

"That's a little personal, don't you think Chief?" I said trying to resist the smile forming on my face.

"The evidence is clear that you and Ed are together". He was looking into the bedroom where my clothes hung neatly from a door hook.

"I love him Chief. I think I've been in love with him for a long time. I think he feels the same about me. We're spending time together when we can. I understand the dangers of his work better than most of his previous girlfriends and I know not to interfere in his work right now."

"What happens when you come back?"

"I'm taking each day as a gift. If we break up, I'll hurt, but I won't let it affect what I do."

"Are you interested in doing some work now?"

I reminded him that I wasn't allowed to come near the office until medically cleared by the review board.

"That never stopped anyone before and I hear that you are spending a great deal of time at the firing range."

"Did Frank tell you? I still have privileges and it's a cheap date." Amazing how he knew. He wasn't called the legendary detective for nothing. As I spoke I felt that sensation at the base of my skull. He needed something. I waited.

"Yes, Frank Marshall and I have talked. So you're bringing all your skills up to date, except those you were taking great pride in. Your skills as an investigator."

I looked at him with downcast eyes. "I don't know if I can do the job again."

"Well if you don't practice Sergeant Belding, you won't have to worry about that and I'll be looking for someone else to take your place."

His words stung. "I can't go out on interviews"

"I know it, but you are one a hell of a researcher and right now, I could use those skills. Because you're not around, I've had to put Mark with Ed and we've got a backlog."

We always had a backlog because we were the best unit of the SFPD. I could smell it. The old fox needed something. "What do you want Chief?"

"I need someone who knows something about accounting and who can read Spanish to take a look at the finances of one Reymundo D'Acosta."

"Latin Rey?" I blurted, referring to the reputed king of San Francisco's drug trade. I saw the Chief's eyes light up. He'd hooked me.

"Himself. Fran, if you were to do it, you'd have to come in to the office. I can't have the records out of it."

I thought about it. "I'm going to see Janet Parkman today. Let me talk it over with her and I'll get back to you with my answer in a couple of days."

"Ok, agreed. What else do you need?"

I gave him a list of what I needed. "That's only if Dr. Parkman says yes."

"Diana Sanger is the prosecutor for this case." The Chief dropped the last piece of the puzzle into place. No wonder he hadn't wanted Mark to come. No wonder he was so insistent for help from inside the office. "I want Diana to have the best. I want her to work with you. I want you to be her lead investigator for this trial."

"But what about Ed. He's senior. He should do…."

"Sergeant Brown, will have his choice of cases but, he does not have the necessary skills for this one. It's yours if you want it. If you can, most importantly."

I sat there quietly for a time. "_Se hicieron dificultades que hay que superar_." I finally said softly.

"What was that you said Fran?"

Something my mother used to say when I was growing up. "_Se hicieron dificultades que hay que superar_."

"Difficulties were made to be overcome" the Chief said. "I remember her telling your father that many times when he had a hard case."

"Or after I was in a fight with Bobby Colavito at St Peter's."

The Chief smiled. "Madre Tomas. She had a reserved seat in her office just for you." He pressed my hands. "Thanks for the coffee. I'll show myself out." He turned his chair around and wheeled to the door.

I walked him there and opened it. "I'll let you know what Dr. Parkman says."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15 Déjà vu All Over Again**

Once more, I was sitting in my familiar spot on the couch in Janet Parkman's office, under the window, feeling the late afternoon sun between my shoulder blades. We'd been working on so many things over the last two and a half months. I'd started feeling like things were making a turn for the better, but now, I wasn't so sure. Gary Glenville wanted to see me, and the Chief had asked that I come back to work, before I was cleared. That was on top of everything else going on in my life.

From behind her desk Dr. Parkman listened to everything I said. More importantly, she listened to every inflection and considered every gesture I made as well. After I'd finished, she steepled her fingers, as she always did and looked up at the ceiling. By now I instinctively knew what it meant, "Give me a moment to process this, will you?" Finally she tipped her head down and looked at me, a half smile playing about her lips.

"Which shall we talk about first?" she asked.

"I have a choice?" I smiled back at her.

"You always have a choice, Fran. Question is, which choice do you want to make first?"

I pondered her words for an instant. "Let's start with the Chief's visit."

"It sounds like it went well. You didn't head off to the wine bottle immediately afterwards."

"I don't do that anymore, at least not as a way to reduce stress, remember."

"Good choice number one. You said you felt different about him."

"I've known the Chief all my life, but we went our separate ways for a time. When I was a teenager, I was going to be an accountant. It was always going to be a stepping stone to other things. I was going to go to work for a big international firm like Deloitte or Ernst Young; because I wanted the money to do things like travel and paint. I couldn't wait to get out of here and live. My mother had died, I didn't need to take care of my father, the police department was doing that, and… well, somehow even with all my craziness then, I got a scholarship to USF. I had a professor who said I should head into forensic accounting. It was still a relatively new field. My background as a cop's daughter would be useful, he thought. Major companies were in need of that and I could call my own shots. He became my mentor. Halfway through college though, I realized what my father did was just as important as a big corporation, probably, no I take that back. It was more important. I really wanted to help people in trouble, like my father did, not companies. But I thought that maybe my talent for numbers might be useful with financial crime. I got the criminal justice degree as well and then went to the Academy."

Janet Parkman said nothing, but continued to lean back in her chair.

"The Chief's always tried, I think, unconsciously, to be a father figure to me since I became part of the team. And on one level I was fine with that. Mark, Ed, the Chief, me, we all needed family. We still do and with Diana, Eve and Sam, we are that family. But on another level, that might have put some restrictions on what I do. I've sensed a real reluctance on his part at times to put me in a more active role on some investigations. It could be that in his eyes, I'm still the little girl he saw at Wednesday night poker games.

"But, he's offering you the lead investigator spot. That doesn't sound protective to me. You'll be one of, if not the most important witness at this trial."

"…..with a lot of in house work. He wants me to translate documents and crunch numbers, and I'm very good at both. He's willing to give me just about anything I need to do the work, including assigning Mark to me. But I don't know how comfortable he is if I have to go out."

"Here's what I think, Fran. I think you're jousting at a windmill here. You're making more of this than you need to. Simply put you're the best qualified person for this job. Definitely more qualified than Ed or Mark. You've got a degree in forensic accounting, and you speak Spanish. The Chief's right when he told you that Reymundo D'Acosta has to be taken off the street. The Chief needs someone he trusts for this job and I see no problem with your going to work early, if that's what you want to do. BooSoo will accept what I recommend to them. And after wondering for months about if you should go back to work, you've finally made up your mind. This case is your chance to shine. To show how good you really are. But, what we really need to talk about is the first little bomb Bob Ironside dropped on you."

"Gary Glenville." I said quietly.

"Exactly. That's what's really bothering you. You need to decide what to do about this. So start by telling me again what he said to you."

"He said Gary Glenville wanted to see me. He had something to say to me."

"No clues about what it was?" She asked.

"None."

"Is he up for a sanity hearing?"

"I don't know. I don't hear anything from either Victim's Rights here or at the hospital. "

She picked up her office phone. "Well, I, for one, want to know. Glenville wants something from you. You need to know what it is." From a flat leather book, she looked up a number and dialed. "Christopher? Jan Parkman here. I need to know something. I'm working with a patient who's been directly contacted by a patient there at Napa. Your patient wants to meet with mine. Can you find out if that patient is up for a sanity hearing anytime soon? Name is Glenville, G-l-e-n-v-i-l-l-e. First name is Gary. One r. Yeah, I'll wait."

She covered the mouthpiece turned to face me. Chris Denning's a good friend, who happens to be a crackerjack shrink working at Napa. He'll find out what's happening. "Hey Chris, what's going on? Uh huh." She scribbled a note on a pad. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Thanks. I owe you dinner. Your choice. Friday? Sure. We'll talk soon." Hanging up the phone she looked at me. "Gary Glenville is up for a sanity hearing a week from Thursday. Apparently he's convinced his therapists he's ready to be out in the world again. "

Sitting there, I felt my heart jump into my throat, my stomach knot up and my back stiffen. Once more I felt like the scared little girl I'd been after he tried to kill me. "That means he could be out on the streets again immediately."

Dr. Parkman looked at me. "Fran, tell me what's going on right now with you."

I took a breath and began telling her that suddenly every bad thing that had happened between the night in the parking lot and my recent decision to be a healthy person had resurrected itself. That I felt shaky and weak. It felt like I'd made no progress at all.

"Fran, remember what we talked about when you first started coming to see me about the PTSD. You needed to recognize and accept that it was part of you and you've been working hard at that. But also that I couldn't help you if you chose to live like a victim. You're the only survivor of his murder spree this spring. A while ago, you told me that you believed you had a moral responsibility to be the voice for the women he killed. I think Glenville's betting you're still so battered and you won't go and he'll get a free pass out. If you went, you wouldn't go alone, would you? You're going to want to talk about things afterward."

"No, the Chief promised to go with me."

"What if I went with you instead? For one, I could see how you're reacting to it and two; I can make an educated guess on Glenville, which will help you. After you see Glenville, we'll talk. Besides, I'd be wanting to know how you were handling it all the time you were there."

I thought for a moment. What she was offering made sense, and it was something I knew needed to be done. I needed to confront him. To show him I had survived. That I wasn't a victim. "So you'd be going as what again?" I asked.

"Your chauffeur and counselor." She replied.

"When can we do this?" I asked.

She opened her appointment book. "I can rearrange things for either tomorrow or the next day." She hit the redial button on her phone. She spoke briefly to Dr. Henning again and hung up. "I have a 1963 Corvette Stingray. The sun will be out tomorrow. Want to go for a ride about 10 and meet Mr. Glenville?"

I nodded agreement, Dr. Parkman saying she would pick me up at my apartment tomorrow a little before 10 and our appointment would be at 11:30am. Leaving her office, I called the Chief. He was happy to hear that I would be coming back to the office next week, but not so happy when I told him that Janet Parkman would be going to Napa with me. I think he understood that it was better she came with me, but I also thought he wanted to be my protector. I wanted to show Glenville I didn't need one.

I was unsettled after my appointment. Ed was working, so I couldn't see him, instead, I drove to Eve's parent's house, I needed friends and I could paint Suzanne's cast. Ringing the bell, I was greeted at the front door by Suzanne, who showed me her now dingy white cast. Behind her came Eve. She could tell my mood and led me into the family room where I collapsed on the couch.

"You're early. Do you want a drink? Iced tea, lemonade, bourbon?"

"Iced tea would be wonderful" I said. She went to get it and Suzanne scooted onto my lap. She put her arms around me. I could feel the hardness of her cast on the side of my head. She looked seriously into my face. "Why is Tia Fran sad?"

"I'm not sad _mi_ _sobrina_; I've been working hard to get better, just like you have. I'm just very tired. I just have to meet someone tomorrow that I'm not looking forward to is all. But sometimes you have to meet people you don't want to."

Suzanne said defiantly, "I would beat them up".

She sounded so much like me growing up that I laughed.

"Not funny Tia. I'm serious."

"Oh yes _pequeña,_ I can tell that you are, very serious. Thank you for looking out for your _Tia_. But you shouldn't do things like that. When I was little, I would use angry words and I did beat up on those I was mad at. My mamita, my mother, would have to come to school and get me from the principal's office. I would always tell her, "_Mamita, n__o__ podía_ _ayudarme_." Mama, _I couldn't help myself._ My mamita would always hug me tightly and whisper, "_Mija,_ _se hicieron dificultades que hay que superar_." _Difficulties were made to be overcome. _And you know _querida, _my mother was right, they are."

She asked if I had a picture of her. I got my wallet out and pulled out the picture I had of both of them.

Suzanne oohed and ahhed over the picture of my mother in her wedding dress and my father in his police uniform. She asked me if they were both alive and I told her they lived in my heart.

"I would cry if I lost my mommy or my daddy." She said thoughtfully.

Eve came in bearing a tray of drinks. "Suzanne, Fran will paint your cast later, but I think she and I need to talk alone for a while."

Suzanne gave me another hug and a big kiss before bouncing off my lap. She ran upstairs and we heard her tell her grandmother that her Tia was here to paint a new George.

From the top of the steps Marion Whitfield called out that I was to stay for dinner, no questions about it. The simple gesture made me teary.

"So, what is it that's making you be an emotional mess?" Eve asked sitting next to me on the couch, her arm around my shoulders after handing me my tea.

I told her, sparing no detail. She listened and when I was done, commented on what I'd said.

"I think Dr. Parkman's right. He has to convince you that he's not the same person who attacked you and murdered three other women. He does that and he's out on the street again. And what happens to you?"

"I hope I would not be this emotional mess I am now. But maybe he has changed, recovered. It does happen"

"You may be saying that, but you don't believe it for a minute do you?"

"No. I'm betting he knows from someone, his father, or most likely his lawyer, about my recovery, that I haven't come back completely, primarily because I'm not at work."

"A corvette's a two seater, isn't it?" Eve said suddenly.

"Yes, why?"

"I'd love to come along. How about instead I meet you afterwards for lunch at the Boon Fly Café?"

"If you think Dr. Parkman wouldn't mind." I replied.

"I'll call her. If it's a problem I won't come, but in this case, since it's not an appointment following the meeting, I don't think she'll mind my paying for lunch."

My smile of relief showed it all. Eve's mother entered the room and gave me a hug. Every time I saw her, I thought her the epitome of a San Francisco society matron, her blonde hair carefully swept back in an up do, an evenly modulated voice, and a figure that could only be described as petite. "Dinner will be ready at 6. How long do you think it will take for the paint to dry on the cast, Fran?"

"About half an hour."

"Ah, me, Suzanne will just have to wait until after dinner to get her monkey back." She laughed.

A dark haired older woman entered the room. "Miss Marion," she began, her voice colored by a soft drawl. "Mr. Whitfield phoned, sends his regrets that he's held up in the city, but to start dinner without him. So, if you and the family are ready, dinner is on the table."


End file.
